The Prime Minister held up his hand. ‘Say no more, Mr. Brook. I was always confident that once you set your mind to it you would manage to re-establish yourself in Paris, and that you should have succeeded so completely makes it all the harder that the events of 13th Vendémiaire should have robbed you of the chance to achieve a coup of the first magnitude. Yet you have returned to me far from empty handed. Your handling of General Pichegru was positively masterly, and is already having most excellent results.’
Roger smiled. ‘I thank you, Sir, I felt much apprehension in gambling so great sum on Pichegru’s good faith; but before I left Paris reports were coming in which seemed to indicate that he intends to earn the money. His failure to take Heidelberg can hardly have been anything but deliberate; and the possession of that city appeared to me to be the crux of the whole campaign, owing to the several communicating valleys that all converge upon it.’
‘Our military pundits confirm you in that; and for once the Austrians have not been slow to take advantage of an opportunity offered to them. General Jourdan’s army is now dammed up behind the River Neckar and as he is dependent on supplies from the distant Low Countries, he must now either retreat or suffer defeat from his troops being weakened by starvation. Meanwhile the Austrians should be able to contain Pichegru in Mannheim; and even, perhaps, drive him out of it back across the Rhine. I would, though, that we were nearer to peace.’
‘I fear that as things are there is little hope of that, Sir.’
‘I know it,’ Mr. Pitt agreed unhappily. ‘Yet the nation needs, and is near demanding it. On the 29th of last month His Majesty’s coach was stoned when he was on his way to open Parliament, by a mob yelling at him to make an end of the war. Such an occurrence, when he has for so long enjoyed great popularity with the masses, is indication enough of the state of public feeling.’
Roger sadly shook his head. ‘That is indeed bad news. I only wish that I could have done better for you.’
‘Nay, Mr. Brook. You have done all that any man could. Were it not for you we should be in far worse case. The Austrians might have been compelled to sue for peace this winter. At least you have gained for them a breathing space until the spring; and that is much. Meanwhile it seems there is little we can do but continue to use our forces to the best advantage and hope for better times.’
‘You are then, Sir, agreeable to release me; so that I may return to Martinique?’
‘Yes, if you wish. Though I would much prefer to have you nearer to me.’
‘That is hardly possible if I am to do justice to my Governorship.’
‘Harry Dundas tells me that you have done remarkably well there; so presumably you find such work congenial. But are you still of the opinion that a post so far from the centre of things will long content you?’
‘Not indefinitely, perhaps,’ Roger admitted. ‘Yet it has great attractions for me, and for a few years I am sure I could be very happy in it.’
Mr, Pitt frowned. ‘I wish that I could persuade you otherwise. However, should you tire of it you have only to let me know. Dundas will have no difficulty in finding a suitable man to replace you and pay you ten thousand pounds for the privilege. In the meantime I will instruct Mr. Rose to place five thousand to your credit, in recognition of the signal service you have rendered to the Allied cause.’
‘That is most generous, and I am deeply grateful, Sir.’
‘Twould not go far in hiring foreign levies to much less purpose,’ smiled the Prime Minister, standing up. ‘Do you plan to return to Martinique at once, or first enjoy some leave in London?’
Roger, too, came to his feet. ‘I mean to sail by the first ship available. I have received news that my wife is due to bear a child within a week or so of Christmas. As it is our first I would fain be with her at the time. Given an early start and a good passage that should be possible.’
‘In that case I can aid you. A fleet with considerable reinforcements for the West Indies, under General Sir Ralph Abércromby, who is to be our new Commander-in-Chief there, is due to sail next week. I will instruct the Admiralty to find you accommodation in one of the war-ships. Please convey my compliments and congratulations to Mrs. Brook.’
Having expressed his thanks again Roger took his leave well satisfied with the results of the interview. Five thousand pounds made a handsome addition to the little fortune he had succeeded in accumulating during the past three years, and he was clearly more strongly established than ever in the good graces of his master.
On his return to England he had hoped to go down to stay for some nights at Stillwaters with Georgina, but the previous evening Droopy Ned had told him that she was taking the waters at Bath; so, unless the ship that was to carry him to Martinique sailed from Bristol, it now looked as if there was little chance of his seeing her. As a salve of sorts to his disappointment, he bought a number of expensive toys with which his godson was as yet far too young to play, then wrote a long letter to Georgina to be despatched with them.
In the evening he received a chit from the Admiralty. The Fleet was to sail from Spithead for Barbados on November the 18th, and accommodation had been found for him in the frigate Swiftsure. To go in her promised a safe and swift passage across the ocean, and there was plenty of local shipping plying between Barbados and Martinique which, given a good wind, lay only a day’s sailing apart; so little knowing what he was being let in for, he felt that nothing could have suited him better.
The next three days he spent looking up old friends, and buying to take out with him, innumerable presents for Amanda, together with a supply of beribboned baby clothes large enough to have clothed the inmates of a crèche. Early on the morning of the 17th he bade farewell to Droopy-Ned, drove down to Portsmouth with Dan, and that evening they went aboard H.M.S. Swiftsure.
On the Fleet’s very first night at sea it was caught by a terrible tempest in the Channel and entirely dispersed. When Roger had recovered from the miseries of seasickness sufficiently to drag himself on deck he found that Swiftsure was well out into the Atlantic, but had lost her foremast. The jury mast rigged in its place meant a great curtailment of her normal sail so an addition of many days to her voyage.
As she limped south-westward, he could hardly contain his impatience, but fret and fume as he did that added nothing to the speed of the frigate. It was Christmas Eve when, without having sighted a single one of her late companions, she docked in Bridgetown, Barbados, and a good merchantman could have made the crossing in considerably less than the time she had taken. Within an hour of landing Roger had hired a schooner to take him on to Martinique, and it brought him into the harbour of Fort Royal soon after dawn on Boxing Day.
Leaving Dan to superintend the landing of his baggage, he went ashore at once and jumped into an ancient carriage that a sleepy negro had just driven on to the quay in the hope of picking up an early fare. He was driven up the hill to the Chateau, where, as it was now winter again, he felt sure that Amanda would be reinstalled. When he reached it the servants were just setting about their morning duties. As he ran into the spacious hall, they stopped work and, taken by surprise by his unexpected appearance, stared at him for a moment as if he were a ghost.
Then a woolly-haired young footman, the whites of his eyes rolling, ran off down a passage. A dusky housemaid gave a squeak and flung her apron over her head; another negress fled upstairs, taking the steps three at a time.
Smiling at the commotion he had caused, Roger strode up the stairs after the flying housemaid, who shot round a corner of the second floor before he was half way up the first flight. At the time he did not realise it, but she had gone to tell Madame de Kay of his arrival. As he reached the second landing a door slammed and that lady appeared in a corridor to the left. Her hair was still in curlers and about her she clutched a hastily donned dressing-gown.
With a laugh, he called to her. ‘Am I in time? A cursed frigate should have got me here days ago, but we suffered every sort of delay imaginable.’
/> As she walked towards him she replied: ‘You have come too late, Roger dear. It was on Christmas Eve.’
‘Ah well!’ he shrugged. ‘Never mind. But Amanda and the boy—I’ve felt certain all along that she’d bear me a son. How are they?’
Tears welled into Cousin Margaret’s eyes, and she stammered huskily: ‘You … you have a daughter Roger. But poor Amanda … In giving birth…She … she is dead. We buried her yesterday.’
23
Midnight Interview
About those words ‘we buried her yesterday’ there seemed an even more terrible finality than the thought of death itself. Roger stood there aghast, rigid and motionless; shaken to the roots of his being.
Amanda was such a strong, well-built young woman, and she had had hardly a day’s illness in her life. He had accepted it as not uncommon for women to die in child-birth, but it had never even crossed his mind that such a fate would overtake her.
Their marriage had been no idyll. Before it both of them had been the victims of passionate love affairs that had gone awry; so neither had had the illusion that the other was the only person in the world for them. But during their long honeymoon in Italy, and the year that followed, they had come to delight more and more in one another. After a further six months, debts and restlessness had driven Roger to resume his old work for Mr. Pitt in France; so for the next two years they had been together very little and had gradually drifted apart. Then after Robespierre’s fall and Roger’s return they had had a genuine reconciliation. He had believed himself done for good with the hazardous life he had led and ready to settle down. The peril in which they had both stood for many weeks after the taking of the Circe had drawn them still closer together, and during their seven months in Martinique they had been happier than ever before.
Unlike other women, Amanda had never made demands upon him. Her only faults had been an irritating vagueness about practical matters, and an irresponsibility about money which could at times prove embarrassing. She had been the easiest person in the world to live with; gentle, kind, generous in thought and deed, every ready for laughter. And now she was gone—gone for ever.
‘Roger!’ Madame de Kay’s gentle voice impinged only faintly on his bemused brain. ‘I know this must be a terrible blow to you. I would have tried to break the news more gently had I had warning of your coming. I wish you could have seen her. She looked so sweet, and utterly at peace. But in this hot climate the funeral….’
‘Please! Please!’ He held up his hand. ‘I beg you say no more. I wish to be alone to think.’ Then he turned away and strode off to the bedroom he had shared with Amanda.
It was neat and orderly, just as he had last seen it. Amanda’s toilet things were laid out on the dressing table, and pulling open a wardrobe, he stared at the dresses which still hung there. On hearing a faint movement at the door his heart almost stopped beating. For a moment he was seized with the thought that he had just woken from an awful nightmare and that on turning he would see Amanda walk into the room; but it was Cousin Margaret, who had followed him.
She had wiped away her tears and spoke in a carefully controlled voice. ‘You cannot have breakfasted. You must eat to keep up your strength, my dear. Please come downstairs in a quarter of an hour. By then I will have had a meal made ready for you.’
‘Nay, food would choke me,’ he replied harshly. ‘I want nothing. Except, yes—please have the best spare room prepared for me at once.’
‘It is always kept ready for guests,’ she murmured. Then, feeling that at the moment any attempt to console him would be useless, she quietly withdrew.
For some ten minutes he remained fiddling dazedly with Amanda’s things. Then he walked along to the big guest room and threw himself down in an arm-chair.
An hour later Dan knocked on the door, and, receiving no reply, went in. He said nothing, but his silence as he stood with bowed shoulders, just inside the door, was more eloquent of sympathy than any words could have been.
‘After a moment, Roger said: ‘Bring me some wine. Madeira. Half a dozen bottles.’
Without a word Dan executed the order, uncorked one of the bottles, filled a glass, and left him.
Late in the afternoon Dan came in again, carrying a tray of food. Three of the bottles were empty and Roger was slightly glassy-eyed, but not drunk. For some inexplicable reason alcohol has little effect on some people when in a state of either great joy or great grief. He had consumed the other three bottles and was still sober when Dan came in that night, but he allowed Dan to help him off with his jack boots, undressed himself and went to bed.
Next morning his cousin came to see him, but he bid her leave him in peace; then Doctor Fergusson, but he drove that pleasant young man from the room, by snapping at him: ‘I am in no need of physics; go mind your own affairs!’
That day and the next he ate little, continued to drink but with more moderation, and sat for hours on end moodily staring into vacancy. On the fourth morning his door opened and Clarissa stood framed in it. She was dressed in full black, which showed off her gold hair and milk and roses complexion to great advantage. In her arms she carried a bundle of muslin and lace. Behind her stood Cousin Margaret, looking distinctly apprehensive.
‘Roger.’ Clarissa addressed him with a slightly hesitant smile. ‘I have brought your little daughter to see you.’
‘Take her away,’ he replied coldly. ‘I do not wish to see her.’
‘But Roger!’ she protested. ‘She is such a sweet little thing, and your own child. How can you possibly reject her when dear Amanda gave her life to give her to you?’
‘You have said it!’ he roared, his blue eyes suddenly blazing. ‘How can you think that I would wish to look upon the thing that killed her? Be gone from here! Be gone this instant!’
After that they left him for three days to mope, and the New Year of 1796 came and went unnoticed by him. Then on January the 2nd Colonel Penruddock entered his room unannounced and said:
‘Mr. Brook! Or, if as an older man and your friend you will permit me to call you so, Roger. All of us here who hold you in affection are most concerned for you. No one who knew your lady could fail to sympathise with you in your tragic loss; but however deeply you may grieve within, the outward manifestation of the sentiment does not become you when carried to such excess. You have a duty to yourself and others. I am told you refuse to see anyone; but your post requires that you should listen to my report as Deputy Governor upon events which have occurred here during your absence. There are, too, enquiries from the Assembly, the Garrison and the Town Council, all asking when it will be convenient for you to receive deputations from them, so that they can make their duty to you on your return; and you cannot keep them waiting indefinitely. Above all, you are behaving with monstrous unkindness to Madame de Kay and Miss Marsham, in repulsing their sympathy and shutting yourself away. I pray you, for all our sakes, to play the man, and now face the world again’
Eyeing him gloomily, Roger replied: ‘Colonel, I appreciate the motive of your visit, but must ask that you do not repeat it. I no longer have a use for the world, and give not a damn what it thinks or does. Should I emerge I would do you little credit with these deputations. Worse, I would, mayhap, strangle with my own hands the French physician who allowed my wife to die. Then on your hands you would have a hanging. Had the Prime Minister required a continuance of my services in Europe I might not have returned here for a year or more; and for however long I was away it would have been for you to carry out my duties. This shock has rendered me incapable of attending to business, and I have not yet taken over from you; so I desire you to leave me to my misery, and carry on as though I had not returned’
Under his icy glance Penruddock saw nothing for it but to retire; so, with a bow, he said: ‘Your Excellency’s servant,’ and left the room.
During the six days that followed Roger made not the slightest alteration in his regime. Alternately he slept or sat in moody contemplation with a vacant loo
k on his face. He would see no one but Dan, and, from his reports, Madame de Kay and Doctor Fergusson feared that he was going out of his mind; but Dan would not agree to that. He’ insisted that his master’s brain was sound as ever, but had become dormant and needed some special impulse to re-arouse it. Fergusson agreed that he was probably right, but added that unless some such impulse could be given it fairly soon, a general deterioration might set in which would rob him of his wits for good. Clarissa was present at this conversation and after it went to her room, where she sat for some time in deep thought.
That night Roger went to bed about ten o’clock, which was his usual hour. By eleven he was sound asleep. Soon after midnight he was roused by a faint noise. Opening his eyes he saw a glow of light. Then he turned over to find that the curtains of his bed had been drawn aside and that Clarissa stood there, a candlestick in her hand, gazing down upon him.
She was wearing a dark coloured chamber robe caught together at the neck by a big silk bow which stuck out on either side of her chin. Above it her oval face, framed in golden ringlets, was lit up by the candle light. For a moment he thought he was dreaming; but she caught his thought and said softly: ‘I am no dream. I’m real.’
‘What … what the devil has brought you here?’ he asked sleepily.
‘Don’t be so rude, Roger,’ she smiled. ‘I am perhaps a little late, but I came to wish you a Happy Birthday.’
‘Birthday!’ he muttered, propping himself up on an elbow. ‘Is it my birthday? I’d no idea of the date. Recently the days seem to have merged into one another. Since Amanda’s death … Oh God!’
‘I know. You have been half out of your mind with grief. But she would not have wished you to continue so. And with her last breath she charged me to take care of both her child and you.’
‘Why you, and not Cousin Margaret?’
The Dark Secret of Josephine Page 44
