The Baron was furious, and declared that the boy must be caught and brought back at all costs. A party that had been arranged for later in the day, to taste the must of the new vintage, was promptly cancelled. Georgina, in tears that needed no forcing, went to her bedroom, but soon after emerged to say that several of her rings were missing, and some sixty thalers that she kept in a drawer against emergencies. Lisala, ignorant of the secret manœuvres that had taken place, endeavoured to console her for the loss of her son. Roger expressed his deepest sympathy for his host, and offered his aid in the search for the missing Charles.
To Roger’s amazement, von Haugwitz burst into tears and exclaimed, ‘I loved the boy. I loved him.’ Ostensibly, that could be taken as a strong expression of the affection a man had developed for his stepson. But to Roger it was evidence of the strength of his host’s illicit passion. Swiftly recovering, the Baron summoned the bodyguard which tradition allowed him to retain, and who were now employed in the Castle as servants, gamekeepers and vine-dressers. As Georgina had foreseen, a number of them were set to search the Castle, in case Charles’ courage had failed him at the last moment, and he had hidden himself somewhere in it. Others were despatched to east and west along the shore of the river, and others again to scour the wooded hinterland.
Shortly before midday, it was discovered that a small rowing boat was missing from the boathouse. By two o’clock it was found, and Charles’ book brought to the Baron. He gave way to a passion of rage and tears, for the land on the west bank of the Rhine had, for many years past, been a part of France, and he could not send his men across, because he had no authority there. Now despairing, he called the search off and, in a state of misery, shut himself up in his room.
In the small hours of the morning, having taken fresh food to her boy, Georgina was able to tell Roger that Charles was bearing up well. But she was unutterably distressed at having finally parted from him. All had, so far, gone well with their plans, and it was their last night together, but a far from happy one. Roger held his love tightly in his arms, while she sobbed on his shoulder. When, at length, she was about to leave him, she said bitterly:
‘We have both made fools of ourselves by our recent marriages. But I am the more to blame. They would never have come about had I only listened to your pleading last time we were together in England. Oh, how happy we could be as husband and wife at Stillwaters. But perhaps some day …’ Then, like a wraith, she vanished, and the door closed silently behind her.
Next morning, after many expressions of gratitude and renewed protestations of distress at Charles’ having run away, Roger and Lisala took their departure. Instead of mounting his charger, Roger had his man lead it, and entered the coach with Lisala.
As soon as the cumbersome vehicle began, with its brakes on, to slither down the steep descent, Lisala remarked lightly:
‘Well, I trust your old love came up to your expectations in bed.’
Roger turned to stare at her, as she went on. ‘Maybe you have forgotten that, when we were so passionately enamoured of each other in Isfahan, you told me of your boy and girl affaire in Hampshire before you went to France; and, that, although you have since seen the lady only at long intervals you had become life-long friends. The moment I saw your great Georgina at Erfurt, I realised that it was she who, on and off, for years has been your mistress.’
‘Believe that if you wish,’ Roger shrugged. ‘’Tis all one to me.’
‘Oh, I make no complaint.’ Lisala smiled sweetly. ‘I found the Baron excellent company. He came to my room the second night and played a man’s part vigorously; and again on Friday. Saturday he was so upset that he failed me. But I now understand the reason for that. Last night he came to me again and persuaded me to play the part of a boy. It was a new experience for me, and one I did not greatly care for. But with practice it might have possibilities.’
‘For Christ’s sake, be silent!’ Roger stormed. ‘You utterly disgust me! But you are right about the Baron being a pederast and that is the true reason for young Charles’ disappearance. Georgina and I stage-managed it, and shortly we shall pick him up.’
Lisala’s great eyes opened wide. ‘So Georgina’s weeping was all a sham?’
‘Certainly not. If you had any maternal feelings, you would realise her acute distress at having had to send him away.’
By that time the coach had reached the road that wound along the river bank. When it came level with the hut where the fishing tackle was kept, Roger called to his coachman to pull up. Getting out, he glanced back up at the Castle. Trees hid it, except for its topmost tower. Reassured that no-one there was likely to be overlooking them, he ran towards the hut. At that moment, Charles emerged. He was pale and looked very woe-begone, but Roger took him by the arm, laughed and said:
‘Well done, my son. The endurance you have displayed does you great credit. Your mama and I are very proud of you. And be of good heart. Within a few weeks, you will be back at Stillwaters.’
Pushing the boy into the coach, he said to Lisala, ‘Here is someone new to exercise your charm upon, but I pray you refrain from questioning him.’ Then he mounted his horse and the coach moved on.
Eight days later they reached Vienna, and put up at the Double Eagle. Next morning, Roger went to the Hofberg and enquired for the Archduke John.
To his relief, the Archduke was in residence and, a quarter of an hour later, received him In his apartment. With due respect, Roger presented a letter Georgina had given him.
While the Archduke was reading it, Roger studied him with an appraising eye. He was of medium height, stalwart and handsome, apart from the thick Habsburg lip. He had spoken crisply and had the bearing people always hoped to see in a man of his high rank. Roger decided that, this time, Georgina had had ample reason to succumb to a lover’s personality.
Looking up from the letter, the Archduke said, ‘It is sad that the Baroness should find it necessary to part with her son. But I understand her feeling that a noble youth of English birth should be educated at Eton. Bring him to me, Monsieur le Colonel, and you may rely upon it that I will arrange for him to be sent safely back to England.’
He then asked eagerly after Georgina. Without going into particulars, Roger disclosed that he had known her for many years. For half an hour they talked in most friendly fashion of her charm, then the Archduke invited Roger to dine the following night. But Roger begged to be excused, because duty required him to rejoin Napoleon with a minimum of delay.
That evening he handed Charles over. The boy displayed great reluctance to be parted from him; but the Archduke showed him such kindness, saying that he must call him Uncle John, that Charles’ fears at being left dependent on a stranger ebbed away and, when Roger bade him farewell, he accepted his situation quite cheerfully.
Lisala was most loath to leave Vienna after no more than having been driven round it. She was w ell aware that, through the French Embassy, Roger could have obtained numerous introductions which would have led to a fortnight or more of gaiety in the Austrian capital. But Roger proved adamant, because the long detour to Vienna had already caused him to overstay the leave Napoleon had given him. So, on the 4th November, they left for Paris, arriving there on the 13th.
As members of the Court, they went straight to the Palace
of St. Cloud. Roger learned that Napoleon had left for Spain on October 29th; so he enquired for his old friend, Duroc, Duc de Fruili, Grand Marshal of the Palace.
Duroc was, for his time, an unusually puritanical man. He had great integrity, and was utterly devoted to his Emperor. Having served with him in Egypt and other places, Roger knew him well and had a considerable admiration for him. Duroc at once assigned to Roger suitable accommodation in the Palace for himself and his wife. Then he said, ‘Among the instructions the Emperor left with me was one that, immediately you arrived you should follow him to Spain.’
Roger smiled. ‘In this case, I must regard “immediate” as a somewhat elastic term; sinc
e I need a few days in Paris to arrange my affairs.’ Actually he was in two minds whether to go to Spain or rid himself of Lisala by breaking for good with Napoleon and making his way to England.
‘Bien, mon ami,’ Duroc replied. ‘But attend to them speedily, or you will find yourself in trouble.’
Owing to the unsettled state of Spain, Napoleon had not taken Josephine with him; so Lisala at once resumed duty as one of the Empress’ ladies. Next day Roger rode into Paris. At La Belle Étoile, his old friends, the Blanchards, greeted him with open arms.
He had known the good Norman couple since he had first come to Paris when still in his teens. He had lodged with them while an impecunious young gallant, but one received by Marie Antoinette at Versailles; they had sheltered him while he lived disguised as a sans culottes during the darkest days of the Terror; they had seen him rise to become the friend of Napoleon and le brave Breuc of the Grande Armêe. They still kept for him in their attic a chest containing clothes of several kinds, into which he could change in an emergency; but they had never enquired into his business, because they loved and trusted him.
On his enquiring for Josefa, they directed him to an upstairs room, where he found her and the baby, both in excellent health.
Although Josefa had been Lisala’s nurse, she was not over fifty, having only the appearance of being older which is common among women who, during their early years, have lived the hard life of peasants. Assuming that she was capable of fending for herself and looking after the child, Roger suggested that he should rent for her a cottage outside Paris, until arrangements could be made for her to return to Portugal. She readily agreed to that, saying she would much prefer it to continuing to live in the city.
Later, as he had so often done in the past, Roger enjoyed an excellent dinner with the Blanchards in their private parlour, listening to all the gossip of the Faubourgs. Madame had cooked for him one of his favourite omelettes, followed by a duck, Normandy style, and they washed it down with one of the best bottles of Burgundy from the Maître’s cellar, finishing up with old Calvados.
Over the meal Roger asked them to find a cottage for Josefa, and said that he would make arrangements for money to be sent them every month for the rent and her keep. They promised to do so, and said they would keep a friendly eye on her.
Well dined and wined, he set off back to St. Cloud. As he rode along at an easy pace, he wondered if this was the last time he would have enjoyed the company of those loyal, unpretentious friends. More and more he inclined to the idea of cutting loose from Lisala, even though the price must be retirement from participation in great events. He had only to pretend to leave for Spain, taking with him civilian clothes, change into them by night, then ride to the coast. A few discreet enquiries and, for a handful of gold, some smuggler would put him across to England. It could be a month or more before anybody even wondered where he had gone.
He was still debating the matter with himself when he reached the Palace. Up in their suite, Lisala was reclining on a chaise longue, reading. As she laid her book down, he noticed the title. It was La Philosophe dans le Boudoir, by the Marquis de Sade. Looking up, she said:
‘I have a message for you. The Empress desires you to wait upon her.’
Having spent a few minutes tidying himself, Roger went down to the Imperial apartments. One of Josephine’s ladies announced him at once. The Empress received him with her usual graciousness, dismissed the woman and, when they were alone, went to a bureau, from which she took a heavily-sealed letter. Turning to Roger, she said:
‘Chevalier, this is for the Emperor. It deals with matters which could be highly dangerous to me were it to fall into wrong hands, so I am afraid to trust it to an ordinary courier. But I am told that you are leaving for Spain almost immediately. Would you do me the kindness to deliver it personally into the Emperor’s own hand?’
Roger bowed, wondering how he could possibly excuse himself. But an immediate reply had to be made and he saw no alternative to making that which was expected of him. ‘With pleasure, Your Majesty. I am as ever entirely at your disposal.’
When he had taken the letter, they talked for a few minutes, then he returned to his apartment.
Josephine was an old and dear friend. Simply to disappear with the letter, which was clearly of great importance to her, or to pass it on to someone else who might lose or tamper with it, was unthinkable. Next morning, with great reluctance, he set out for Spain.
26
The Great Conspiracy
Now that the die was cast and Roger fated to rejoin the Emperor, as he had overstayed his leave he rode all out, requisitioning fresh horses at every garrison town through which he passed. Six long days of hard riding enabled him to arrive at Grand Headquarters on November 21st. He excused his tardiness in reporting by saying he had been laid up for a week with fish-poisoning. Napoleon was in a good mood, spoke to him kindly, thanked him for having brought Josephine’s letter, then sent him to Berthier to be given particulars of the situation.
Immediately after Napoleon had left Madrid, on August 1st, such serious revolts had broken out that King Joseph had fled from his capital and, covered by Marshal Moncey’s corps, sought safety across the Ebro. Bessières, who was holding the road through Burgos, inflicted a defeat on the insurgents; but that same month Wellesley had defeated Junot, and occupied Lisbon. The Convention of Cintra, by which Junot and his twenty-five thousand troops had been evacuated back to France and allowed to take all their loot with them, had so outraged the Government and people of Britain that all three Generals: Wellesley, Burrard and Dalrymple, had been recalled and court-martialled. General Sir John Moore had succeeded to the Command and another, smaller, British force, under General Baird, was said to have landed at Corunna; but the whereabouts of these two armies were at present unknown.
Meanwhile the French had been in serious straits, holding only a triangle based on the Pyrenees, pointing in the direction of Madrid. Several of the garrisons outside the triangle were isolated. General Ducherme, commanding in Catalonia, was cut off and boxed up in the fortress of Barcelona. In Saragossa, led by the patriot leader, Palafox, the insurgents had inflicted heavy losses on General Verdier’s troops by many days of terrible house-to-house fighting: a form of warfare to which the French were not accustomed.
The French were at a further disadvantage in that the majority of Bessières’ and Moncey’s men were Swiss or German levies, with little heart in the battle, and such French troops as they had were largely raw conscripts. In the autumn a well-concerted effort by the Spaniards, now stiffened by the nine thousand regular soldiers whom the Marquis La Romana had brought back from Hanover, could have driven the French back across the Pyrenees. But their failure to press on to victory was due to disunity. The ‘Central Junta’ of thirty-five delegates which had been formed, wasted its time debating the terms of a new Constitution for Spain, and could not even be brought to appoint a Commander-in-Chief for the whole of the Spanish forces. The result was that half-a-dozen Generals, appointed by their own local Juntas, could not agree a common strategy, refused out of jealousy to support one another, and quarrelled bitterly among themselves about the division of money and arms that were being sent to them from Britain.
Although still refusing to regard the Spanish rebellion as a serious threat to his suzerainty of Europe, Napoleon had determined to crush it once and for all; so he had ordered south from Germany the hard-bitten corps of Soult, Ney, Mortier, Lannes, Victor and Lefebvre with his usual ability in directing great armies, the Emperor had waited until this force of two hundred thousand veterans had concentrated in Navarre. Divided counsels had led the Spaniards to dispose the majority of their troops on the two flanks of the French-held triangle, leaving their centre weak. Napoleon had sent orders launching his massed legions on October 29th against this weak spot, smashed through, then directed his Marshals against the numerous Spanish forces to east and west, overwhelming them one by one.
Roger arrived at H
eadquarters while this devastating tide of victory was in full spate. Within ten days, organised Spanish resistance to the French advance had been quelled and Napoleon was approaching Madrid. The city had no walls; but, in a frenzy of hatred, the population endeavoured to defend it by throwing up barricades. Their resistance lasted only a day. On December 3rd, the Emperor had again installed himself in the Royal Palace.
While resting his troops for a fortnight, Napoleon planned the subjugation of the remainder of Spain. Lannes had already been ordered to besiege Saragossa and put an end to Palafox. Soult was directed to invade Léon. The next move would be to march on Lisbon, where Sir John Moore’s army was assumed to be.
Then, on the morning of the 19th, intelligence came in that Moore was not there at all. He was much further north, had entered Spain and was advancing on Valladolid. Soult was in that neighbourhood, but had only twenty thousand men. The numbers of the British force were unknown, but might be considerably greater and, if Moore defeated Soult, Napoleon’s communications with France would be cut.
The Emperor immediately dictated a despatch to Soult, warning him of his danger and ordering him to stand on the defensive until he, Napoleon, could bring up from the neighbourhood of Madrid the main French army, by-pass Moore and cut off his retreat into Portugal. They would then crush the British between them.
This magnificent chauce to destroy an entire British army filled the Emperor with elation. No sooner had the despatch been sealed than he gave it to Roger, as the A.D.C. on duty, and told him to ride hell-for-leather with it to Soult.
Evil in a Mask Page 47