The Man who Killed the King

by Dennis Wheatley

  Leaving his post-chaise in Piccadilly, he walked round the corner to Amesbury House, where he was lucky enough to catch Droopy Ned on the point of going out. Having explained his anomalous position, he asked his friend to get in touch with Mr. Pitt and inform him of the peculiar circumstances that required an urgent meeting at some secret rendezvous, in case No. 10, Downing Street was kept under observation by a French agent; then to invite Amanda up to Amesbury House for a few days, so that he could see as much as possible of her while he was in London. In order to meet again in a place where it was unlikely that Roger would run into anyone he knew, they arranged to lunch together the following day at the Cheshire Cheese in Fleet Street. Muffling himself up against the bitter wind, Roger then walked back to his post-chaise and was driven to the French Embassy.

  The ci-devant Marquis de Chauvelin received him politely, but with evident uneasiness; and, having perused his credentials, expressed his willingness to do everything possible to aid him. Roger had decided that the less he had to do with the diplomat the less danger he would run; so he adopted the haughty attitude of a fiery young revolutionary who felt contempt for old-fashioned diplomatic methods, made no mention of Chauvelin’s imminent recall, gave only the barest outline of his mission, and said that all he required was that an appointment should be made for him to see either Mr. Pitt or Lord Grenville as soon as possible.

  Chauvelin replied that such interviews were far from easy to obtain, and as they went in to a meal that he had ordered for his guest he proceeded to explain the difficulties of his position. The British Government had not yet recognised France as a Republic, so they persistently refused to accord him diplomatic status. When he had last requested Lord Grenville to see him, the Foreign Secretary had replied that he should put what he had to say in writing; and on his urging the greater benefits likely to accrue from a personal conversation, Grenville had only consented to receive him a week later.

  Roger then gave an account of the King’s trial, and remarked that in view of it his business was most urgent; so the Conseil Général in Paris would hold his host responsible if an interview could not be obtained promptly. The wretched Chauvelin promised to do his utmost, and swiftly launched out on an account of his many activities to aid the Revolution in England.

  For an hour Roger listened to his stories of the operations of Lord Stanhope, Lord Semphill, Doctor Priestly, the “Reformation Society of Manchester”, the “Revolution Society of Norwich”, the “Friends of the People” and other persons and groups who were fomenting trouble, as he felt that such information might be useful to Mr. Pitt; after which he went to bed.

  Next day, at the Cheshire Cheese, Droopy told him that Mr. Pitt would see him at Mr. Dundas’s house out at Wimbledon that night, and would have a plain carriage to take him there waiting on the south-east corner of Portman Square at ten o’clock; and that Amanda would be joyfully awaiting him at Amesbury House on his return.

  Naturally Roger was most anxious to spend the night with her; so, later that afternoon, he casually informed Chauvelin that when walking down the Haymarket he had run into a pretty baggage whom he had known when he had previously been in England, and meant to stay the night at her apartment in Jermyn Street.

  Henry Dundas, the Home Secretary, was as near an opposite to William Pitt as it would have been possible to find—apart from the fact that they both had an immense capacity for work and drinking port—for the former was a big, bluff, foul-mouthed Scot with no pretensions to culture or aristocratic lineage; yet the two were the closest of boon companions, and when Roger arrived at Wimbledon he found them still at table, now well into their second bottle.

  Dundas thought Roger’s appearance in London as a French envoy a huge joke; he roared with laughter, slapped him on the back, then in his rich Scots accent bade him help himself to the port. Pitt, too, now in his most genial mood, was much amused; but soon both became grave when Roger gave them an account of Louis XVI’s trial.

  “Think ye they’ll send the puer footlin’ mon to the scaffold?” Dundas asked.

  “Aye,” Roger replied, lasping quite unconsciously into an idiom he had caught when very young from his Scottish mother; “there may be a postponement for a few weeks, but ’tis more likely that his execution will take place within the next few days; it may even have taken place already.”

  The Prime Minister glanced at his friend. “This means war, Hal; I have long dreaded it, and have in recent weeks come with the utmost reluctance to regard it as inevitable.”

  “You have always said, sir,” Roger remarked deferentially, “that you would never embroil England on account of any French domestic matter; and surely this is one?”

  “That is true enough, Mr. Brook, and I stand by what I said; but there are other matters, such as the decrees. By them all England saw the formal declaration of a design to extend universally the new principles adopted in France, and to encourage revolt and disorder in all countries; even in those which are neutral. Again, there is the question of the Scheldt and of the security of Holland; this nation will never look on with indifference while France makes herself, either directly or indirectly, the Sovereign of the Low Countries, or general arbiter of the rights and liberties of Europe. Should the French murder their King, His Majesty’s Government could not allow such a crime to pass without marking in some signal manner their horror at so barbarous an act. If fight we must, what more suitable opportunity will ever be afforded me to make the break, and allow the nation to enter upon the war which so large a part of it now desires, and which I myself am compelled to agree has become essential to our future safety?”

  “Personally, sir, I have no desire to argue the opposite case,” Roger replied, “for I am convinced that sooner or later we must fight these devils, or be undone; and there could be no better time to do so than now, because their army has practically disintegrated. But my duty to you demands that I should inform you of the circumstances which, to my mind, make it feasible to postpone the issue if you wish.” He then gave his listeners a full account of his meeting with Lebrun, Dumouriez and Maret at the French Foreign Office.

  When he had finished, the Prime Minister looked at him doubtfully and said, “If France is really desirous of maintaining peace and friendship with England, she must show herself disposed to renounce her views of aggression and aggrandisement, and to confine herself within her own territory, without insulting other governments, without disturbing their tranquillity, and without violating their rights. Are you fully convinced that those are her honest intentions?”

  Roger shook his head. “I could not say that. When I left Paris Lebrun himself could not even guarantee that the Council would support his efforts to maintain peace. But of one thing I am convinced: the wisest men that France has left to guide her now consider her to be in dire peril; therefore they are prepared to make every reasonable concession rather than see England added to her enemies.”

  Mr. Pitt’s eyes lit up. “If that be so, you give me new hope.”

  “Billy, ha’ regard to the facts!” Dundas cried, bringing his great fist smashing down on the table. Then he went on to recall how Lord Auckland, their Ambassador at The Hague, had furnished them with a copy, taken by a Dutch secret agent at Dumouriez’s headquarters, of a letter written by the General in which he had made enthusiastic mention of his plans for invading Holland.

  “That was before Christmas,” the Prime Minister shrugged, “and I believe Mr. Brook right in his contention that they have had ample cause since to modify their views. In any case, the news he brings decides me to refrain from slamming the door in their faces. Should they send King Louis to the scaffold we must make plain how gravely such a step has prejudiced their interests with us; but I’ll not make it a cause for war, as I had intended. Monsieur Maret seemed to me an honest and capable man; we will wait to hear what he has to say, and pray that between us we may yet find a way to avert a final rupture.”

  Roger, having now said all that his duty made it
incumbent on him to say, was anxious to get back to London; but his superiors continued to circulate the port and meanwhile ply him with innumerable questions about life in the Paris of the Revolution. It was three in the morning before he managed to get away, and past four when he kissed a drowsy Amanda into joyful wakefulness; but at least he had the compensating thought to set against their sadly abbreviated night together that he had never stood higher in the estimation of the Prime Minister.

  That he had done exactly what those who had sent him had desired, more swiftly and efficiently than anyone else they could have sent, seemed extraordinarily ironic; but it had just happened that their wishes coincided with his master’s fixed determination to snatch at any straw that might avert war. He did not approve of Mr. Pitt’s ostrich-like attitude, as he believed that it was only putting off the evil day, and to no ultimate advantage; but having said so he could do no more about it.

  By nine o’clock he was back at Portman Square. Over breakfast with Chauvelin it gave him considerable amusement, having spent most of the night with Mr. Pitt, to harry the Frenchman for the interview which it was beyond his powers to secure for several days at least. Then, that afternoon, a despatch arrived which made the diplomat’s inability to be of use more galling for himself than ever; it contained the news that at 10.20 a.m. on the 21st Louis XVI had been executed.

  The guillotine had been specially set up in the great open space between the west end of the Tuileries gardens and the entrance to the Champs Élysées. The arrangements had been so perfect that no incident had occurred. The Convention had made the generous concession of allowing a non-juring priest, the Abbé Edgeworth, to accompany the tyrant to the scaffold. Having mounted it, Capet had endeavoured to address the people, but his voice had been effectively drowned by General Santerre promptly ordering the troops to beat a tattoo on their drums. When Citizen Executioner Samson had held up the head of the tyrant for the multitude to see they had shown unbounded joy.

  That was the gist of the despatch. On reading it, Roger, having for so long been accustomed to act a part, gave a cynical laugh, then announced that he was going out to celebrate with his English chère amie, and would not be back before morning.

  That night, when he discussed the news with Amanda, she again put forward Lady Atkyns as a most suitable candidate for such part of the money from the sale of the French jewels as they meant to give away. For a moment he was impatient at her suggestion, then grateful for it; because the comical conception of this elderly widow carrying off Marie Antoinette from under the eyes of Citizen Simon, the eight Commissars on duty, and 240 National Guards, helped to dispel from his mind the tragic picture of the hapless, martyred King.

  After attempting to convey to Amanda the hopelessness of any such attempt, he told her that he had found a much better use for the money, as a secret League existed for the rescue of less exalted people, which was a really practical undertaking, and that he proposed to ask Droopy to send a thousand pounds anonymously to the man who was running it. With a sigh Amanda agreed; but she was soon laughing again, and, the sad state of France temporarily forgotten, they made up for the time of which Mr. Pitt had unwittingly robbed them the night before. It was as well they did, as, after they parted next morning, they were not destined to meet again for a long time, and then only in far from happy circumstances.

  When Roger reached Portman Square he found that a small mob had already collected outside the Embassy, and they booed him as he went into it. The news of Louis XVI’s murder was now all over London, and Londoners were showing their disapproval in no uncertain manner. As the day wore on the crowd increased; stones were thrown, windows broken and insults shouted at anyone who appeared at them. Pale, helpless and frightened, Chauvelin kept well out of sight, while Roger taunted him, enquiring sarcastically where all his English Jacobins and radical Corresponding Societies were now. For Chauvelin he had only pitiless contempt and, given the opportunity, would have had him shot far more readily than most of the sans-culottes that he had sent to their deaths while with Dumouriez’s army, for the Marquis had betrayed his own Order. Roger secretly hoped that the mob would break in, as he would willingly have risked a severe manhandling himself for the chance of seeing Chauvelin hanged from a lamp-post. Instead, all that happened was that the Embassy continued to be the focal centre of an angry crowd till late at night; and, much to Roger’s annoyance, he felt compelled to abandon any thought of going to Amesbury House, as to leave the building in such circumstances would have been so entirely out of keeping with his rôle of a French diplomat.

  Then first thing next morning there arrived an Order in Council, peremptorily commanding Chauvelin and his staff to quit the country immediately. It was the gesture that the Prime Minister had told Roger he would have to make to satisfy public opinion in England, should the French send their King to the scaffold. There could be no argument or delay in the face of such an order. It would not prevent Maret coming to England as a private person and opening secret negotiations with Mr. Pitt later, but Roger had been officially accredited to Chauvelin’s staff; so he had no option but to leave with him, and by midday they were on the road to Dover.

  At Blackheath they met a messenger from Paris, who, recognising the French liveries, pulled up and handed Chauvelin a despatch. It was the order for his recall. The sight of the consternation and fear with which it filled him were Roger’s only consolation for having had to leave without saying good-bye to Amanda.

  A few miles outside Calais they passed a coach, but failed to recognise its occupants in the darkness. Later they learned that it contained Maret, on his way to England with the new proposals. He, Dumouriez and Lebrun had won round the Council to agreeing to every possible concession being made which might prevent Britain entering the war; but the dismissed Ambassador’s arrival in Paris on the 29th again threw everything into the melting-pot.

  Roger dared take no other line with Lebrun than to say that his mission had proved abortive owing to Chauvelin’s having failed to secure him an interview with a member of the British Cabinet; while Chauvelin, to cover his own failure, reported to the Council that the English were bellicose, intractable, steeped in reaction and only awaiting the completion of their preparations before striking at the young Republic. The zealots overruled the diplomats and insisted that the dismissal of their Envoy should be made a casus belli. On the 1st of February, 1793, the Republic of France declared war on both Holland and Britain, and early in March declared war on Spain.

  Meanwhile Dumouriez’s fears were being realised; the tide of battle began to turn against France, both on the Rhine and in the Low Countries. An expedition, under Dumouriez himself, across the mouth of the Scheldt against southern Holland, was partially successful; but General Miranda failed to take Maestricht, and Custine was forced back from Mayence. On the 18th of March, at Neerwinden, the main French Army suffered a severe defeat, and Dumouriez, now convinced that the reign of the Convention could only lead to anarchy, began to contemplate playing the part of a General Monk.

  In Paris all was disorder. The Girondins and the Montagnards had entered into a desperate struggle for power, and fought, impeached and intrigued against each other incessantly, while the Plain looked on in terror. Another Committee of Insurrection was formed. A plan was hatched at the Cordeliers to break into the Convention on the 9th of March, arrest the Girondins and begin a general massacre of the moderates. It failed because the Girondin leaders were warned to keep away from the evening sitting; out the riots that ensued were put down only with difficulty.

  In Brittany insurrections of a different kind had broken out. The peasants there had been better treated by their landlords than in other parts of France, and they were also deeply religious. They had accepted the measures against feudalism without active opposition, but the persecution of their priests and the murder of the King filled them with savage resentment, and the call-up for the army proved the last straw. In the Bocage, the Marais, and other districts of La Vend
ée, great numbers of them had now risen spontaneously, murdered the republican Municipals and taken up arms under the white and gold banner of the Fleur-de-lys, to fight for Monarchy and Church.

  This alarming news from the west coincided with rumours that Dumouriez intended to betray the Republic. On the 30th of March the Comité de Défense Générale, which had replaced the Executive Council, despatched five Commissioners to investigate and, if necessary, suspend him. On the 1st of April he denounced the Convention as “300 scoundrels and 400 imbeciles”, arrested the Commissioners and handed them over to the Austrians. During the next four days he did his utmost to persuade his Army to abandon the Republic; a great part of the regular troops were ready to follow him, but the fédérés prevailed upon them to refrain. On the 5th of April he gave up the attempt, and, with a few score officers, including eleven Generals, went over to the enemy. Already the French had been driven from the soil of Belgium, and were falling back on all fronts; so this defection by the high command was a matter of the utmost gravity.

  From mid-March the cry had again arisen in Paris, “The country is in danger! To arms, Citizens! To arms, or the Revolution will perish!” There was heard again, too, that other sinister cry, “We are betrayed!” “There are still traitors in our midst! Death to the traitors!”