Evil in a Mask rb-9

by Dennis Wheatley

  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; since 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 Etoile, 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 Armee. 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 trusts I 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 Maine'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 tide. 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.

  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 ist, 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. Bessieres, 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 Bessieres' 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 debadng 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 Headquarters 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 Leon. 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 chance 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.

  Roger's mind had been made up instantly. He could not possibly stand by while thousands of his countrymen were killed or captured. Even if it cost him his own life he must warn Moore of the trap into which he was walking. As a pre­caution against emergencies, he always travelled with a small valise containing civilian clothes. Collecting it from his room, and wrapping himself in his fur cloak against the bitter cold, he ran down to the stables. Normally, he would have been accompanied by his orderly; but he told the officer-in-charge of the stable that his business was too urgent for him to wait for the man to be found.

  Taking the road to Valladolid, he covered the one hundred miles to the road junction at Tondesillas, twenty miles south­west of the city, in eleven hours, arriving there a little after ten o'clock that evening. As was the case with all the towns and villages on the road north, it was guarded by a French detachment. Snow was falling, and in the Officers' Mess he found the inmates huddled round a glowing fire. After snatch­ing a hasty meal and changing his horse for the fourth time, he again took the road; but, instead of taking that to Valladolid, he proceeded due west, along the road leading to Zamora and the Portuguese frontier.

  A mile outside the town he dismounted, changed, shiver­ing, into civilian clothes behind a haystack, and stuffed his uniform into the valise. The moon had now risen and gave him enough light to see some distance ahead. After riding another twelve miles he saw, upon a slight rise, an encamp-m-at of bivouacs. A hundred yards further on, he was chal­lenged by a sentry.

  He asked to be taken at once to the man's officer. As it was now well on in the night, the sentry at rirst demurred; but Roger's air of authority overcame his scruples. The troops proved to be a vedette of Hussars, commanded by a Captain. Roger told him that he had intelligence of the first importance for Sir John Moore, and requested a guide to his Headquar­ters. As he had no credentials he could show, the Captain thought it possible that he might be a spy and said he would send him on only if he agreed to be blindfolded. Roger readily consented. Then he said:

  'I have ridden close on a hundred and twenty miles today, and am near exhausted. Could you, perchance, send me on in a trap or some other conveyance? But it must be fast-moving, as every moment is precious.'

  Roger's state of fatigue was obvious, so the Captain said be could go in the mess cart and, while a good horse was har­nessed to it, made him take a long drink from a flask of port wine.

  Ten minutes later, Roger was again on his way, now blind­folded, but lying on a straw-filled palliasse, and covered with a pile of blankets against the intense cold of the winter night. In spite of the jolting, he soon fell asleep. For how long he slept he did not know; but, to his great relief when the driver woke him, he saw that it was still dark; so there was a chance that he might reach Valladolid without too great a delay to explain away when he delivered his despatch to Soult.

  On getting out of the cart, he saw that he was in the middle of a great camp, and that the vehicle had pulled up before a marquee. Outside, a soldier of a Highland regiment stood on guard, and he called his Sergeant. The Sergeant evidently suspected that this stranger, arriving in the middle of the night, might have been sent to harm his General. But Roger's mother had been Scottish, and in his youth he had imbibed something of her accent. Using it again now, he allayed the Sergeant's suspicions, and the man took Roger into the marquee, where an A.D.C. was dozing. Again there occurred an infuriating delay while Roger stressed the extreme urgency of his busi­ness. At length the A.D.C. consented to rouse his General; and, a few minutes later, Sir John emerged from an inner division of the marquee.

  To him Roger said quickly, 'Sir, you will not recall me, but we met once before. It was while Mr. Pitt was out of office and commanding two battalions of Fencibles at Walmer. You came over from Hythe to give a talk on the new tactics you have invented, by which infantry should advance in open or­der, each man trained to fight independently, instead of offer­ing a good target to enemy guns by going forward in massed formation.'

  The General nodded. 'I remember the occasion and vaguely recall your face. What brings you here ?'

  Roger produced the despatch for Soult. 'Time docs not now permit, Sir, for me to give you particulars of how it is that I am one of the Emperor's aides-de-camp. But I was charged to deliver this despatch with all speed. It instructs Marshal Soult to stand on the defensive should you attack him. Meanwhile the Emperor will already be giving orders for his main army to advance into the country to your south, and so encircle you.'

  "That is bad news, indeed!' Sir John exclaimed. 'I have been delayed by a fool of a Spanish General telling me that the mountain roads were impassable for my artillery, which proved quite untrue when I crossed them with my main body; but I had already sent the guns round by a long detour. They reached me only a few days ago, and it was not until then that I was able to make contact with General Baird. But now, with twenty-seven thousand men, I had good hopes of routing Soult and cutting Napoleon's communications with France.'

  'Alas, Sir,' Roger shook his head, 'that is now out of the question. Within a week, the Emperor will have at the least one hundred thousand troops massed against you.'

  'I must retreat at once then, and by forced marches escape the trap. Given good fortune, I may yet get my army back to Corunna in lime to embark them in our ships and take them off to fight another day. Entrust me, please, with your name, Sir, that I may report confidentially to Mr. Canning or Lord Castlereagh this great service you have rendered me.'

  'I am known to both, and am the son of the late Admiral Sir Christopher Brook. But I pray you, let that knowledge go no further.'

  'Ah! Now I recall meeting you at Walmer. But, Mr. Brook, you look sadly worn. You must have refreshment and rest. I'll see to it.'

  'Nay, I thank you, Sir.' Roger shook his head. 'Do I delay overmuch in getting this despatch to Soult, I'll be finished with Napoleon. I must return at once to Tondesillas
with all possible speed.'

  Sir John had a gig which he used on occasions. By the time Roger had drunk a glass of wine and munched a hastily-made sandwich, it was brought round. Having wrung his hand, the General saw him off. An hour later, he reached the vedette. The Captain of Hussars had had Roger's horse watered and fed. It was quickly saddled up, and Roger was off again.

  By the time he reached the outskirts of Tondesillas, the late winter dawn was breaking. Behind a barn he changed back into his uniform. Skirting the town by byways, he came out on the road to Valladolid. The last twenty miles were agony. He was half-frozen, saddle-sore and incredibly tired. Half a mile outside the city, he turned into a bridle path, dismounted, re­moved his valise from the back of the saddle and gave his mount a sharp cut on the rump with his riding switch, caus­ing the animal to bolt. Rallying his last reserves of strength, Roger walked into the town, to arrive at Marshal Soult's headquarters just before ten o'clock.

  The grey-haired Marshal, whom Roger had met on many occasions, received him immediately he was announced. Roger had worked it out that, even had he ridden with less speed from Madrid, he should still have reached Valladolid in the early hours of the morning; so he had several hours to account for. Leaning heavily on a chairback, he told Soult that, after pass­ing through Tondesillas, he had been shot at from behind a hedge; his horse had thrown him and bolted, and he was lucky to have escaped with his life, as he had rolled into a ditch where, in the darkness, his assailants had failed to find and murder him. He had not dared to leave the ditch for a con­siderable time, then had had to walk the rest of the way to Valladolid.

  Such occurrences had become so frequent in Spain that the Marshal did not even think of questioning his statement; but ripped open the despatch, read it, shouted for his staff to give them urgent orders, then sent Roger off to bed.

  Dead to the world, he slept through the day, roused in the evening, only to take a glass of wine and cat a wing of chicken which a friend of his on Soult's staff brought up to him, then slept again. On the 21st, he set off back to Madrid, but his thighs were still sore so he took the journey in leisurely fashion, not arriving until the 24th.