Napoleon's Rosebud

by Humphry Knipe

  Gaspard Gourgaud thought of himself as a clever man, but he couldn’t work out what was the point of this shameful subterfuge. “Your Majesty, may I know why you want me to pretend to be a traitor?”

  The world’s master strategist shook his head in wonder. “Must I explain everything? Once you are in London, once you have wormed your way into the soft heart of the English Liberal establishment, you will break out your true colors. You will explain that you had to disguise yourself as a traitor so that my jailer would send you to England. You will reveal to everyone the true horrors of our exile. Once you have set Britain aflame, you will take our message to Europe. Relay it in person to the tsar and the emperor of Austria, my wife Marie-Louise, everyone. Prince Eugene will have money for you. We will be recalled. Our cruel and unusual punishment, our martyrdom on this wind-blasted rock will be over!”

  “Sire, you make me feel like Judas,” said Gaspard.

  Napoleon chuckled. “Don’t let it go to your head!”

  Charlotte had taken off her shoes because they were walking on the beach. She was pleased that every now and then Daniel glanced at her ankles and naked feet—slender, high arched, even toed—as perfect as her hands. Charming feet.

  “You witch, you planned it all, down to the last detail!” he said.

  “I didn’t plan anything. I did what I was told!”

  “By whom?”

  “Whom do you think? The emperor, of course.”

  “Why would Napoleon want to get me killed?”

  “That’s the last thing he wants. He treasures your connection with Governor Lowe. You were never in any danger. Do you think we would do that to you?”

  “Why not? We might find it amusing! You know I’m no soldier—I’m a botanist! Why torture me? Don’t you think I deserve an answer?”

  “The emperor heard Gaspard had challenged you. Gaspard needs to have an excuse to change sides. An excuse that convinces Governor Lowe.”

  “Change sides? What are you talking about?”

  “Not everyone will believe Napoleon has forbidden Gaspard to fight you. Some will accuse him of cowardice. Gaspard fears nothing more than that. It’s plausible that he will blame Napoleon for his shame. That this will be enough to turn his love for the emperor into hate.”

  This plot was so deep that Daniel struggled to find his footing. “But why does Napoleon want Gaspard to pretend to be a traitor?”

  “So Governor Lowe will send him to England to testify against Napoleon.”

  “Then he switches back to Napoleon’s side when he gets there?”

  “Of course.”

  Daniel stopped walking to stare at a ship that was breaking out its canvas. “You knew all this? All the time?”

  “Yes. Napoleon had me speak to your mother. She had exactly the concoction that was needed.”

  “But what if Gaspard had not had that drink?”

  “Gaspard always has it when he visits the Almond.”

  “How did he know I was there?”

  “Basil Jackson told him.”

  “How did Basil Jackson know?”

  Her emerald eyes were a challenge to the sparkling sea behind her. “I told him.”

  A wry smile wormed its way onto Daniel’s lips. “You are a heartless vixen.”

  “I must admit it was difficult not to burst out laughing when you and Gaspard were breathing fire at each other.”

  “Is that why you didn’t tell me the duel was a charade? To laugh at me? You have no idea what it’s like staring death in the face!”

  “Napoleon wouldn’t let me tell either you or Gaspard because he needed you both to be completely convincing so the governor will be convinced. Also, he needed to test your courage. He has great plans for you.”

  He almost forgave her because he felt a flush of pride at having passed the test. “So what’s the next step?”

  She heard something above the crack and sigh of the waves. “Here it comes, at a gallop.”

  Lieutenant Basil Jackson rode in a wide circle around them, his horse relishing the soft sand under its hooves. “Hello!” he called out, his fair English cheeks flushed. “A letter for Daniel. From Gaspard.” His horse reared when he tried to pass Daniel the note. Although Basil’s horse wasn’t white, it reminded Charlotte of that famous David painting of Napoleon, in his glory days, leading the charge across the Alps. Daniel managed to get hold of the letter on the third attempt, and with a loud good-bye the messenger spurred his horse onward down the beach.

  “Well?” said Charlotte when Daniel just stood there with the letter, which he wanted to hold as much as the hot side of a flaming firebrand. What if Gaspard, the Gallic cock, had decided to disobey his master?

  With a last look at Jackson galloping off with wild glee and showing no intention of returning, Daniel broke the seal and started to read.

  “What does it say?” Charlotte asked, much too intrigued for Daniel’s liking.

  The letter was such a short one that he turned it over to make sure he hadn’t missed anything on the other side. “It’s an apology of sorts,” he said, doing his best to sound casual about it.

  “Read it, please!”

  “It’s what you’ve just told me,” he said.

  “Then give it to me!”

  Daniel found himself reluctant to part with the letter, as if it were written evidence of a death penalty pardon.

  When Charlotte, laughing, squeezed his wrist, he surrendered it. Someone must have done a translation, because the English was perfect, which Gaspard’s was not.

  “Monsieur Hamilton,” she read aloud, affecting a heavy French accent. “My sincerest apologies for being prevented by an acute illness from attending our little affair of honor this morning. Unfortunately the matter has since come to the attention of the emperor, who has forbidden me, in the severest terms, from taking this matter further, even though this stains my good name. Since my challenge was prompted by the behavior of your fiancée, and not yourself, my belief is that you lose no honor in accepting this offer of reconciliation. Because you are a civilian with no experience with arms, I admire your courage in daring to face a man like me, who most probably would have killed you. My hope is that we will become close companions now that I have fallen out of favor with an emperor who does not seem to appreciate that I am in the position to correct the lies he circulates about that good man Sir Hudson Lowe, who is only trying to do his duty. Yours, etc., Gaspard Gourgaud, General.”

  Charlotte brushed the sand off her feet, slipped on her shoes. “You need to see the governor immediately, so he thinks he is the first one to know about the letter. While you are busy with him, I will be at the Almond Tree. I have to tell everyone the good news.”

  While Daniel waited for Governor Lowe to find time to see him, Charlotte was mobbed by posturing young officers who feasted on her account of how Napoleon’s favorite general, the man who had saved his life more than once, had just turned his coat.

  Across the road at the Castle Lowe greeted Daniel with his suspicious sideways glance. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he said as he went on writing a letter, to make it clear he was a very busy man.

  “Your Excellency instructed me to keep you informed on anything relating to the prisoner.”

  Lowe’s goose-feather pen kept scratching away. “I heard you and General Gaspard had a frightful falling out at the Almond Tree yesterday. Scared everyone stiff. Just as well he was struck down last night, by something he ate I suppose, or you would have been a dead man by now.”

  Daniel didn’t linger over the possibility. “He has fallen out with Bonaparte, Your Excellency. He says that Napoleon’s forbidding him to reschedule the duel besmirches his honor. He has written me a letter of reconciliation. I have it here.”

  Now Daniel had Lowe’s full attention. “Really? Let me see this letter.”

  When Lowe finished reading, he shot to his feet as if in the grip of an overwhelming inspiration. He paced like a penned tiger behind his menacing Chines
e desk. “I need to hear what he has got to say about Bonaparte with my own ears! I want everyone to hear! Everyone! A dinner party at Plantation House. My full general staff will be there. Prominent locals, like that botanical Scotsman Henry Porteous—he loves to gossip. Purveyor Balcombe—he’s got loose lips. And you and your young lady, of course, or is she General Gourgaud’s now? It’s hard to keep up with her.” Lowe flashed something that was very nearly a roguish smile. “She’ll be available, I take it?”

  “I’m sure Charlotte will be delighted, Your Excellency,” Daniel said.

  Charlotte had never seen ice, but she felt that icy was a good description of the way she responded to Gaspard effusive greeting at Governor Lowe’s hastily arranged Plantation House dinner. They were collaborators now, by imperial decree, but it was difficult to overlook that he had called her a harlot in public.

  She was standing with Daniel, who was talking botany with kilted Henry Porteous when Gaspard, of course in full dress uniform, approached. “Ah, ma chère Rosebud, you are looking so lovely this evening. Your eyes have lost none of their fire!”

  Although Napoleon’s instructions to make up with Gaspard rang in her ears, she allowed herself to raise a slightly contemptuous eyebrow. “Thank you, General, although you may call me Charlotte.”

  “Oh, but I may not,” Gaspard said loud enough for Henry Porteous to hear. “The fat spider who stews in his bath all day has spread his web over every inch of the island. The threads are attached to his fingers. He not only knows what everyone says, he knows what everyone thinks. His is a mind that has plotted every intricate detail of sixty mighty battles, that has dominated rooms full of kings and princes. He has ordered us to call you Rosebud, so Rosebud it must be. I hear you came up by ox wagon. So charmingly rustic! If you’d asked I would certainly have arranged for you to be fetched by one of our carriages.”

  “Actually, I prefer to be drawn by oxen,” said Charlotte. “On these treacherous roads they are much more sure-footed and less skittish than horses. It’s something you might want to keep in mind.”

  Gaspard gave her a smile as tight as a vise. “I admire your caution. Saint Helena is indeed treacherous terrain.”

  A gong sounded, another import from China. A butler announced that dinner was served. Gaspard bowed, Charlotte curtsied, and they went in with the others.

  When the last course was dealt with and liquors served, all eyes were on Gaspard raising his glass in a macabre toast. “Here’s to the two million men, women, and children he killed!” he said. “The little people who died to make him great!”

  “But he claims it was in a noble cause,” said Governor Lowe, cunningly playing devil’s advocate. “Bringing equality to the world.”

  “Nonsense, Your Excellency, with respect,” Gaspard said. “That’s what his sycophants would have you believe. Once the scales have fallen from one’s eyes, one realizes that he’s no more an egalitarian than the tyrant of Timbuktu. He gave the crowns of Europe to his family, handed them out like trophies. The day his son was born, he made the whelp king of Rome, when his only accomplishment was that he knew how to suck on his wet nurse’s teat!”

  Lowe, who wanted to maintain a demeanor of high seriousness, didn’t laugh with the rest. “What about the men who followed him into exile?” he asked. “He must have qualities to attract fine volunteers like you to such a faraway place.”

  “Volunteers! He bribed us to keep him company with reminders of how much money we could make writing books about him! Wouldn’t take no for an answer. While we were still on the Bellerophon, one of the wives, the elegant Madame Bertrand, no less, barged into Napoleon’s cabin and begged him to let her husband off the leash. Napoleon refused. So the poor, distraught woman rushed back to her cabin and tried to throw herself out the window, she was in such a state of despair. Unfortunately, she got stuck and we tried to pull her back, but someone else yelled, ‘Let her go! Let her go!’ We were all at one another’s throats, even then.”

  “One of the ogre’s victims was my brother, Sir William Howe DeLancey,” said Lady Susan Lowe, maudlin with drink. “Shattered by a cannonball.”

  “DeLancey, the hero of Waterloo?” said Gaspard, whose glass was being refilled for the twentieth time. “Of course I’ve heard of him, my lady. That cannonball was meant for Wellington, who was right at his side. He gave his life for his general!”

  Lady Lowe drained her glass. She gave Gaspard a sly smile. “Would you do that for your emperor?”

  “There was a time when I would. When I did. Twice I saved his life. But whenever I remind him, he becomes irritated. Says he can’t remember! Can you believe such monstrous ingratitude? He treats me a like a dog!”

  “What about the lies he circulates abroad concerning the governor?” ventured Daniel, keeping his tone low and respectful. “Everyone in England believes them.”

  Gaspard turned up his hands. “Lies? At Longwood? How can they be lies when everything is done strictly according to the dictates of the Code Napoleon?”

  Lowe allowed himself a chuckle. “That’s rich,” he said.

  Gaspard appeared to be having the time of his life. “He calls you Caliban after the deformed monster in Shakespeare’s play. He intentionally misunderstands all your communications. He draws up lists of demands he knows perfectly well you can’t accede to. He makes up promises he pretends come from you and then claims you have broken them. And it’s not only you whom the monster abuses—it is us, his staff. He treats us with contempt, as if he were still master of Europe and we are minions barely fit to polish his boots. He is a lunatic who won’t accept that the horse of history has thrown him and galloped off into the future.”

  “What about his absurd obsession with being called emperor?” Lady Lowe cut in. “I’m told that a few weeks ago he received a letter addressed to General Bonaparte. He advised the messenger to go to Egypt, because that’s where General Bonaparte was last heard of, at the Battle of the Pyramids!”

  This offering was swept on its way by another gale of drunken laughter. “Water!” cried Gaspard. “Your mentioning Egypt reminds me of water, at least the lack of it. Every day he wallows in water that is hand carried two miles from the nearest spring, even though we have hardly enough at Longwood to boil our vegetables. No wonder he insists on always shaving himself, otherwise one of us would certainly have cut his throat by now!”

  Henry Porteous, whose kilt kept riding up and who was hiding his bare knees under the tablecloth, thought it high time he made a contribution that sailed with the prevailing wind. “He’s putting on weight, Bonaparte complains, because he’s not allowed to take exercise. That’s not true either, is it?”

  “More lies!” crowed Gaspard. “He’s allowed to ride within a twelve-mile perimeter, but he claims to everyone who will listen that he is kept cooped up day and night in a damp, drafty dungeon of a house with a leaky ceiling. He isn’t. He’s as fat as a Chinese pig because he eats like one. It’s hard not to burst out laughing when you watch him walk. It’s something between a swagger and a waddle.”

  Daniel said nothing, merely following the center of attention with his calm brown eyes as it flitted round the table. Charlotte, who had been cut off the few times she’d tried to speak, raised her voice. Something Napoleon’s doctor, Barry O’Meara, had said popped into her mind. It was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

  “Sir Hudson, I’ve heard a rumor that you are refusing Napoleon leeches to drain his hemorrhoids. I would have thought General Gaspard Gourgaud the perfect man to set the record straight on that point.”

  The stunned silence was broken by Lady Lowe’s tipsy giggle.

  “Another damn lie!” shouted Lowe so angrily that it had to be the truth.

  Chapter 10: Virgin Hall

  “The fool swallowed it?” said Napoleon.

  “He loved every word,” said Charlotte. “I haven’t seen the governor smile before.”

  The emperor, who rose at six, was already halfway through his p
etite levée when Charlotte arrived. Everything being done in the same order as before, as if he were at the Tuileries, Malmaison, Fontainebleau, Rambouillet, or Saint-Cloud instead of this ruined shack on a barren plain on a flyspeck of an island in the middle of nowhere.

  He was standing at the window, shaving. His valet Marchand was holding the mirror, and a second valet held a tray with soap and water. The dogs barked. She was with the household servants, head hidden in a dirty scarf. The sleepy soldiers, who had heard nothing more sinister during the long, gusty night than the scream of a feral cat, hardly glanced at her. She entered the house through the back door, keeping her scarf on until she was shown into the imperial presence.

  “That boy of yours, Daniel, is doing some excellent work for us, as are you. You both deserve to be rewarded.”

  “There is no need. We do it for freedom.”

  Napoleon glanced at her with such a quick movement that he nearly nicked himself with the razor. Cupid’s bow arched on his lips and then was gone when its arrow was discharged at her. “You mentioned that when you marry you are going to rent a farm called Virgin Hall in Sandy Bay?” he said, handing the cutthroat to Marchand.

  “Yes. On his deathbed Daniel’s father sold it to my uncle Samuel.”