The Dark Secret of Josephine rb-5

by Dennis Wheatley

  Not long afterwards Buonaparte arrived, and, knowing that he would wish to have Josephine to himself, Roger took an early oppor­tunity of offering to see Theresa Tallien home. She too appreciated the situation and, although she had been there less than a quarter of an hour, with her usual good nature she readily consented. Just as they were leaving, she said to Josephine:

  "Do not forget, my dear, that we have an appointment to visit Madame Le Normand together at three o'clock tomorrow afternoon. We will go masked, of course, and I will call for you in a hackney coach, as the appointment has been made simply for two ladies, and it will be all the greater test of her powers if we can continue to keep our identities a secret from her."

  "I had not forgotten," Josephine laughed. "I adore fortune-tellers, and I do hope that this renowned sibyl will predict exciting futures for us both. Adieu, sweet Theresa! Adieu till tomorrow!"

  On the way downstairs Roger asked the stately Theresa for Le Normand's address, saying that he must, some time, consult her himself. She gave it to him and in her coach he saw her to her front door, but politely declined an invitation to come in; whereupon she insisted on it taking him back to La Belle Etoile. There he went up to his room, loosened a floor board, and took from beneath it one of the purses of gold that he always kept hidden against emergencies. Then, going out again, he walked through a misty drizzle that had just begun to Le Normand's house in the Rue de Journon.

  At first the woman who answered the door there refused to admit him on the plea that her mistress had to conserve her powers, so never saw clients after six o'clock. But Roger clinked his gold and slipped her a piece, which induced her to let him in and lead him to a parlour on the ground floor.

  As she fit the candles in it he saw that on a table in its centre there lay scattered face up a pack of Tarot cards, and among them a large crystal on an ebony stand. There was no stuffed alligator hanging from the ceiling, no tambourines, or other charlatan's aids, left about; but Roger had not expected there would be, as he had often heard of Le Normand and she had the reputation of a mystic with genuine gifts. She had, according to current belief, correctly predicted the dates upon which numerous people who had consulted her would be sent to the guillotine and, with great boldness, foretold to Robespierre his approaching fall.

  When he had waited there for a few minutes a middle-aged woman came in. Her clothes were of rich material but untidily worn, and beneath the fine lace draped over her head wisps of grey hair stuck out. She had big eves, very widely spaced, and regarded Roger from them with quiet self-composure. Having curtsied to his bow, she asked:

  "What does the Citizen require of me?"

  "I come," Roger replied, "not to ask you to tell my fortune, but on a business matter. First let me make it clear that I respect such gifts as yours; I have a dear friend who has several times foretold the future correctly for me, but through her I have also learned the limitations of such powers. They cannot always be called upon at will. Therefore, when used professionally there are times when aids having nought to do with the occult must be employed to give a client satisfaction."

  A slow smile dawned in Madame Le Normand's large eyes, and she said: "Since the Citizen is so well informed upon such matters, I will not deny that a skilful probing of the enquirer’s circumstances is often most helpful in becoming en rapport."

  Roger bowed. "I can then aid you beforehand with regard to two ladies who have an appointment to consult you at three o'clock tomorrow afternoon. The taller of the two is Madame Tallien, the shorter and slighter Madame de Beauharnais."

  "Why does the Citizen bring me this information?"

  "Because I wish you to exert a beneficial influence on the mind of Madame de Beauharnais. She has recentiy received an offer of marriage, but is hesitating about accepting h. That she should do so is greatly in her interest, because her present position is precarious; whereas this match would both secure her own future and ensure a most promising future for her two children. The proposal does not come om myself but from General Buonaparte. It would, I think, be over­doing matters to disclose his name, but I should like you to speak well of him, as a man of generous disposition and a soldier of great promise, who will bring happiness to the woman he marries."

  Producing the silk net purse through which the gold glittered dully, Roger laid it on the table and added: "If you are willing, I should like to leave this with you; so that you may buy some article of value, by which to remember your part m promoting the fortunes of a widow and two orphans."

  The sibyl took up the purse and held it tightly clasped in both hands for a few moments, then she said quietly: "Citizen, you have lied to me. This purse may contain louis d'or but it is, nevertheless, foreign gold. It was not concern for a widow and two orphans that brought you here tonight. You have some other motive for desiring this marriage to take place. An endeavour to alter a person's Fate by such means always recoils on the head of him who makes it. It will do so in your case. Yet I will do as you wish; because never before have I felt so strongly the influence that guides me, and I already know beyond any shadow of doubt that to do so will be for the glory of France."

  "Citoyenne." Roger replied a trifle huskily, "what you tell me is most perturbing; but in this I have no personal end to gain, and I honestly believe that this marriage will be to the advantage of Madame de Beauharnais; so I can only hope that Fate will let me off lightly."

  Her strange, widely-spaced eyes held his for a few seconds, then she said: "I believe you. It must, then, be not you who will suffer, but the cause you serve.

  As the door of the house closed behind Roger, he found himself badly shaken. For the first time it occurred to him that it might have been better to let Buonaparte break himself once and for all on the shores of England than simply to get him out of the way for the time being by engineering his being sent to Italy, from whence he might return covered with glory to become an even greater menace. But on second thoughts he decided that he was playing the right game. With England practically denuded of troops, the risk that the invasion might succeed was too great a one to take. Even now that awful possibility was far from having been ruled out, as it was by no means certain yet that Josephine would accept Buonaparte; or, even if she did, that the Directors would finally decide to give him the Army of Italy.

  On the latter question Roger was given better grounds for hope when he went to see Barras the following morning. General Scherer had returned Buonaparte's plan to Carnot with a curt note to the effect that he had no use for it, and that if the Directory were set upon it they had better send the rash fool who had made it to carry it out. Thereupon Carnot had decided to support a policy of taking him at his word. But the proposal had still to get through the Comite.

  It was Barras's vote which would now prove the deciding factor; but, in spite of all that Roger could say about the criminal lunacy of an attempt to invade England, the Director made it clear that he would not support the proposal that Buonaparte should supersede Scherer, unless the plan for exerting a secret influence over the Corsican by means of Josephine could be carried through. He added that no time must be lost in getting a definite decision from her, as once the proposal came officially before the Comite it would have to be settled one way or the other.

  More anxious than ever now to learn what effect Josephine's after­noon visit to Le Normand had had, and feeling sure she would speak of it if he could get a word with her, Roger went that evening to Madame Tallien's, but Josephine did not appear there; so somewhat belatedly he went on to Madame de Chateau-Renault's. There he found her, but she was with Buonaparte, who soon afterwards escorted her home, and Roger was left to exercise as much patience as he could till next day.

  As early in the afternoon as convention permitted, he went to the little villa in the Rue Chantereine. Josephine looked somewhat surprised to see him, but he took the bold line of saying that he had been sent by Barras to tell her that Carnot's opposition to Buonaparte's being given the appointment he so g
reatly desired had been overcome, and that it now remained only for her to say if she was willing to present it to him as her dowry.

  Raising her eyebrows a little she said: "I was not aware that Barras expected any opposition to his plan. He led me to suppose that every­thing depended on myself."

  "Ah! Roger hedged. "That was because he wished to give you time to get used to the idea, while he was working to win over two colleagues on Le Directoire. Now that he has done so, within forty-eight hours the matter must be settled one way or the other. As voting is by secret ballot he can still sabotage his own proposition if he wishes; and will, do you not consent But he would be mightily put out should you now refuse to take this splendid opening that he has been at such pains to provide for you."

  She motioned Roger to a chair and said as she sat down on another: "I would be a heartless wretch were I not sensible of the gratitude I owe him. No woman could ever have had a more generous protector. As for the future that this marriage promises, yesterday I went with Theresa Tallien to consult the sibyl Le Normand. Should only half the things that she predicts for it come true few fortunes could equal mine. I am still overwhelmed by the things she told me."

  "She has a great reputation," Roger smiled. "And I am truly de­lighted that the omens should be favourable. Will you not tell me what she said?"

  "It sounds utterly fantastic. She spoke of palaces and crowns. She said that Buonaparte's star is the most brilliant in all the heavens. That Kings will bow down to him. That he will make me a Queen. That in his footsteps my Eugene will also become a great General. He will, too, be a Prince, and little Hortense like myself a Queen."

  For a moment Roger wondered uneasily if any of this might be due to true second-sight, or if it was simply that the sibyl had given him full measure in payment for his gold. Then Josephine caught his attention again as she went on:

  "I'd not believe a word of it, but for one thing. When I was a young girl in Martinique an old negro woman of partly Irish descent predicted just such a future for me. More, she also foretold the troubles that would come upon France, my marriage to M. de Beauharnais, and the manner of his death."

  Roger was much impressed and no little perturbed; but true to his principle that first things must come first, he said seriously: "Such confirmation can leave you in no doubt of your destiny. Pray, Madame, accept my congratulations. With your permission then, I will return to Barras and tell him the good news; leaving it to you to acquaint General Buonaparte that through you he is to receive the first step to his magnificent fortune."

  "Nay! wait!" She stretched out a hand to stop him as he rose.

  "What!" he exclaimed. "Surely you cannot mean that you are still troubled by doubts?"

  "Yes. Indeed I am!"

  "How can you even contemplate the rejection of these great gifts that the gods are prepared to shower on you and your children?"

  "I do not wish to; but it may be that I must."

  "How so? You are your own mistress! What in the world is there to prevent your marrying General Buonaparte other than your own hesitations?"

  Instead of answering his question, she leaned forward and said earnestly: "Monsieur, you are most sympathetic. Although our acquaintance is a short one, I feel that you are my friend. You are, I know, a great friend of Paul Barras. Could you persuade him to grant me a favour?"

  Roger returned her glance with some surprise. "Madame, I can hardly think that my influence with him is greater than your own. But I will willingly serve you in any way I can.

  "It concerns Citizen Fouché. Much ill has been said of him, but he is a good man at heart His calumniators have brought about his ruin, but I would much like to see his excellent mind once more employed in the interests of his country. If you would serve me, use your utmost endeavours to persuade Barras to give him some suitable appointment"

  "Forgive me, Madame, if, before agreeing to do as you wish, I ask you one question. What has this to do with the project of your marriage?"

  Josephine began to twist her fingers together in evident agitation. "I beg you, Monsieur, do not press me on that. It concerns a matter in my past which I would prefer not to discuss. Please let it suffice that though I do not love General Buonaparte, I would do my best to make him a good wife—if ... if only this other matter could be settled."

  "Madame, you imply that Fouché is holding you to ransom?"

  "No, no! He is most well disposed towards me, and acting in this as my friend. It is for that reason I wish to oblige him. He comes of a shipping family that once owned estates in the West Indies but the Revolution robbed him of any private income, and now that he is no longer a Deputy he is in sad straits."

  Her mention of the West Indies suddenly rang a bell in Roger's brain. Coming to his feet, he exclaimed: "I have it now! Fouché has found out about your marriage to William de Kay."

  Josephine's big eyes widened. Springing up, she gasped: "How . .. how can you know aught of that?*

  Roger had to think quickly. After a second he replied: "When I was living in England I had the story from a Mr. Beckwith, a British merchant who had lived in Martinique for many years."

  "I knew him," Josephine murmured, pale to the lips. "Oh, Monsieur! You are wrong in thinking that it is Fouché who is blackmailing me, but right in thinking that I am again being victimized on account of that youthful folly. It has proved the curse of my life."

  "I happened to hear of it only by the merest chance, and would have thought it by now long since forgotten."

  "I had hoped it was, or at least that I was cleared of it A few years after I was married to M. de Beauharnais, ill-fortune caused us to take a mulatto among our servants. He turned out to be the brother of a woman slave who had been brought up in my father's household, and from her he had had the whole story. He demanded money from me as the price of his silence. For a time I paid him; then when I could no longer afford to meet his demands, I told my husband. I swore to my innocence and he believed me. All would have been well but for an evil woman who pretended to be my friend while having designs upon him. She so worked upon his mind that he decided to go to Martinique and ferret out the truth. When he returned he brought an action with intent to repudiate me. Fortunately for myself, good friends of mine succeeded in having the case removed from Paris to a provincial court where he had no influence. There was no proof that my marriage to William de Kay was a legal one, or that it had been consummated; so a verdict was given in my favour. Later my husband and myself were reconciled, and I lulled myself into the belief that I had been punished enough for the deceit I had practised on my parents."

  "Indeed you have, Madame. But I beg you to calm yourself. That this mulatto rogue should have appeared again is naturally a grave annoyance to you, but now he should not prove difficult to deal with."

  "He has no part in this. I know it for certain that he was killed in a riot during the Revolution."

  "I see. So some other is now attempting to blackmail you. Am I to understand that Fouché is acting as your agent, and endeavouring to buy this person's silence?"

  "Not that, exactly. I am not quite so simple as to fail to realize that in serving me he hopes to serve himself. But I think him right in his contention that it is far better to eliminate the blackmailer than to pay, perhaps indefinitely. His suggestion is that, if I could obtain for him some Ministerial office or high appointment in the Police, without giving any reason he could issue a warrant for the rogue, then secure an order for his deportation; and that would be the end of the matter."

  "But Madame, one moment!" Roger spread out his hands. "Why allow the restoration of your peace of mind to be dependent on restoring

  Fouché's fortunes? Why not go direct to Barras? He could do all that is required with a stroke of the pen."

  "It is not so simple, Monsieur. Fouché refuses to reveal the identity of the blackmailer."

  "Even so, Barras could deal with this. He could put his police on to shadow Fouché night and day. The one rogue would soo
n lead them to the other, and the whole affair be settled without causing you the least embarrassment."

  "No," she shook her head violently. "That I will not have. Fouché may be a rogue, but he knows how to keep a secret Barras does not. He is the biggest gossip in all Paris. Did I confide in him it would ultimately do me near as much damage as if I allowed the blackmailer to do his worst."

  For a moment Roger was silent, then he said: "But really, I cannot see what you have to fear. Since the Court gave a verdict in your favour, you are already proved innocent Should this old scandal be dug up you can afford to laugh at it"

  The laugh that Josephine gave was a bitter one. "Monsieur, I have not yet acquainted you with the crux of the matter. This person has in his possession a diary that I wrote during my love affair with William. That he actually has it I know, for I have been sent some of the more harmless leaves from it. In it I referred to William as my husband, and wrote many things the memory of which now causes me to blush."

  Roger drew in a sharp breath. "You are right, Madame. This is serious."

  "Serious!" she echoed, her voice rising hysterically. "Should my diary be published, for me it would be the end! The end, I tell you! The ultimate degradation! For all their lives my poor children would bear the stigma of bastards. As for myself, should I marry Buonaparte and this were disclosed, for having consciously made him a party to bigamy and the laughing stock of Paris I believe he would strangle me with his own hands."

  In a swift succession of flashes, like those given off by an exploding Chinese cracker, Roger saw the sequence of situations which threatened to arise from this new development. Unless the diary could be recovered Josephine would not dare to marry Buonaparte. If she would not marry him, Barras would not risk entrusting him with the Army of Italy. Unless Buonaparte was given the Army of Italy he would insist upon being allowed to carry out his plan for the invasion of England.

  Once more Roger had a mental picture of the old High Street of Lymington, his home town, in flames; and he knew that it would be only one of many; for, although the invasion might be repulsed later, nothing short of a tempest could stop the initial landings. Somehow, if it was the last thing he ever did, he had to get hold of and destroy that diary.