The Dark Secret of Josephine

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘Because she believed that I could make you happy.’

  For a moment Roger remained silent, then he said roughly: ‘You told her, then, that you were in love with me?’

  ‘No. I would never have done that. She guessed it. Women instinctively know such things about one another.

  ’ ‘And she did not resent it?’

  ‘Nay. Although I did not deserve her generosity, she trusted me completely. She had no idea that I had confessed my love to you; but as she lay dying she sent your Cousin Margaret away and told me that she knew it, then expressed the hope that you would marry me.’

  ‘I’ve not the least intention of marrying anyone.’

  She shook her head. ‘I did not suppose you had. So as it is your birthday I brought you a present.’

  He gave a puzzled frown. ‘A present? What have presents to do with this? I do not understand.’

  As he was speaking she had set the candlestick on the oedside table and stepped back. With one hand she gave a swift pull to an end of the bow at her neck and with the other ripped open the fastenings of her chamber robe. Beneath it she had nothing on at all. Pulling off the robe she threw it over the back of a chair, then stood before him with downcast eyes, revealed in all her beauty.

  ‘I have brought you myself,’ she said in a breathless whisper.

  ‘Clarissa!’ he gasped. ‘What are you thinking of? You must be mad! Put on your robe and go back to your room.’

  ‘I am not mad!’ Her blue eyes suddenly looked straight into his and she spoke firmly. ‘I am nineteen, and I know what I am doing.’

  ‘Ah, you are a grown woman,’ he admitted, ‘but you have bewitched yourself, or you would never behave in such a fashion.’

  ‘It is you who are bewitched!’ she retorted swiftly. ‘I am no more so than any woman who has loved a man to near distraction for above a year. ’Tis you who are under a spell! A spell cast by death, which is slowly destroying your mind. And I am here to break it.’

  Suddenly she shivered, took a pace forward, grasped the bedclothes and pulled them back, exclaiming: ‘Roger, I am cold! For pity’s sake let me come into your bed.’

  ‘No!’ he cried hoarsely. ‘No, no! I’ll not let you do this!’

  But she was already half kneeling above him in the bed.

  As he sat up to push her out her shoulder brushed against his, and the warmth of it ran through him like an electric shock. Next moment she had flung her soft arms round his neck and pressed her half open mouth on his in a passionate kiss.

  Carried out of himself he clasped her to him, and his lips responded with equal vigour. As they broke the kiss she gave a cry of triumph.

  ‘There! I have made you come alive again; and I knew that you could love me if you would.’

  Silently he put up his hands, clasped her wrists, pulled them from behind his neck, and pushed her away from him. Then he said coldly:

  ‘You are wrong in that. I have never ceased to be alive, and I have no intention of making love to you.’ After a second, deciding that it was the only way to chill her, he added what had now become a lie. ‘Please understand that this has nought to do with the memory of Amanda. It is simply that I have never had the least desire to have you for a bedfellow.’

  His words had an instantaneous effect. Suddenly, still half sprawled upon him, she went absolutely limp; then she slid down beside him, a sob burst from her throat, and she moaned: ‘Oh God! That I should have to suffer this!’

  ‘I pray you be sensible,’ he urged with swift contrition. ‘I implied as much long since, that night in the forest.’

  ‘No, you did not.’ Her words came in a shaky voice. ‘You led me only to suppose that out of consideration for Amanda you would not allow your thoughts to dwell on me; and, for the same reason I told you that even did you want me I would refuse you. Yet I have always hoped that some twist of fate might bring us together in different circumstances. Not her death! God forbid! I had no thought of that; but that the two of you might separate again, as you did once before. In that hope, since arriving here, I have refused offers of marriage from a dozen men of good fortune and repulsed half a hundred who have done their best to seduce me. There is scarce a man here on the island who would not give a half of all he possesses to sleep with me. Yet you—the only one to whom I would give myself with gladness—have nought but harsh words for me. Though I lie here in bed with, you, you treat me as thought I were a leper. Oh Roger! How can you be so brutal?’

  ‘I am truly sorry,’ he said huskily. ‘I did not mean to hurt you.’

  ‘Hurt me!’ she exclaimed. ‘You could not have done so more effectually had you thrust a white-hot iron right through my body.’

  On the last word she choked, and burst into tears. For a moment Roger let her cry, then he pushed an arm under her shoulders and drew her golden head down on to his chest. She made no movement either to resist or cling to him but went on crying.

  ‘There, there!’ he murmured, as to a child. ‘Do not take on so, my dear. At least you may be assured that I have a great affection for you.’

  At the word ‘affection’ a shudder ran through her, and her sobs increased in violence until they shook her whole body. In vain Roger strove to comfort her, but whether she even took in his words he could not tell. She cried and cried and cried until, after a long time, gradually her weeping eased. There followed a period of silence, during which he had not the heart to tell her to get up and go to her room. Then, from her gentle, even breathing, he realised that, utterly worn out by her emotions, she had fallen asleep.

  One by one the hours of the night crept on, but he remained wide awake while she lay snuggled against his side sleeping peacefully. The arm he had about her grew stiff and cramped, yet he would not move it until he saw the light of dawn creeping beneath the curtains of the windows. Stooping his head, then, he roused her by kissing her lightly on the cheek.

  She turned over and her blue eyes opened, still dewy with sleep. Suddenly they widened, and she breathed his name. Recalling her words when she had woken him at midnight, he said:

  ‘I am no dream. I’m real.’

  ‘Then I must have fallen asleep,’ she murmured.

  ‘Yes.’ A faint smile twitched the corners of his mouth.

  ‘This dropping asleep in one another’s arms threatens to become a habit. Still, you wanted to sleep with me, and you’ve had your wish.’

  ‘But nothing happened?’

  ‘No, nothing.’

  Her lovely face clouded over. ‘Then I failed after all to arouse in you the sort of impulse that Doctor Fergusson said you needed.’

  For the first time in over a fortnight Roger laughed. ‘Oh come! I cannot believe that young Fergusson sent you to me; or that he had that sort of impulse in mind.’

  ‘Indeed no! He implied only that some means of taking your thoughts off your grief must be found if your brain was to be restored to normal.’

  ‘Then in that you have succeeded. I know not how; but I think it must have been your wish to heal me coupled with your nearness as you lay beside me all through the night. Something flowed out of you and into me that was balm to my troubled soul.’

  ‘Oh Roger, I am overjoyed!’

  He made a little grimace. ‘I fear you may be less so when you hear the sequel. During the night I have had ample time to think. I must have work—real work—to occupy my mind; and the routine of a Governor in an island at peace will not provide it. Moreover, should I remain in Martinique I shall be constantly reminded of Amanda. I am going home by the first ship I can find to take me, and I do not intend to return.’

  ‘What of your little daughter? Surely you do not intend to abandon her completely?’

  ‘No. Later I will endeavour to be all that a father should be to her. But for the present she is too young to travel. When I have surrendered my Governorship, Cousin Margaret will, I am sure, give her a home.’

  ‘What then of myself? It was I whom Amanda charged with the care of her
child; and I accepted the charge gladly.’

  ‘I know it, and am truly grateful; but I do not wish her to become a tie upon you. It is my most earnest wish that either here or in England you should find a husband.’

  ‘Do you then force me to the choice of marrying someone for whom I do not care, or returning to live with my Aunt Jane in near poverty?’

  ‘Perish the thought, Clarissa! What can you think of me? I had intended, whatever you decided, to regard you in future as my ward and make you a suitable allowance.’

  ‘Bless you for that,’ she smiled. ‘I had not really thought you meant to abandon me. Your Cousin Margaret would no doubt give me a home, for some months at least, out of kindness; but it would make me happier if I could offer to become her paying guest. Have you thought yet what you mean to do about the babe when she is old enough for me to bring her to England?’

  ‘As you must by now have heard, Georgina had a boy in August. The children will be much of an age so they can share a nursery. And now, my dear, it is time for you to go back to your room.’

  Clarissa, still naked, had been lying on her back with the bedclothes drawn up to her chin. Now, she slipped out of bed with her back to him and stretched out a hand to pick up her robe.

  ‘One moment!’ he said, jumping out beside her, and taking her hand in his. ‘Come to the window. I want to see the dawn, and you in it.’

  ‘But Roger!’ she protested, trying to pull away from him.

  ‘Nay!’ he laughed. ‘After last night you have no case to plead modesty with me, and nought to be ashamed of. Never again in all my life may I have a chance to look upon such rare and splendid beauty.’

  Obediently then, she allowed him to lead her to one of the tall windows. As he pulled back the heavy curtains the light came flooding in upon them. The sun had just overtopped the mountains to the east and beyond a deep belt of shadow lit the blue waters of the outer bay.

  ‘Look!’ he exclaimed. At last I can again welcome a new day—a new life. And you have made that possible.’

  As he turned and stood away from her, tears welled up into her eyes, and she said miserably: ‘Oh Roger! I know not what to think. You say now that I am beautiful, yet last night you put me from you. To understand you is beyond me.’

  ‘Is it so difficult?’ his voice was gentle. ‘I am not made of stone; but memories of Amanda will for long make any thought of taking another wife out of the question for me. To have made you my mistress, then left you, would have been a cruel thing to do. Moreover, I would not have it on my conscience that when you do find some good fellow that you wish to marry, you should be deprived of the joy of knowing physical love for the first time with him.’

  ‘Then you did desire me?’

  He smiled. ‘So much so that when you have been married a while, I’ll do my utmost to seduce you.’

  ‘Must I wait for that?’

  ‘Yes. And should your marriage prove a happy one, you’ll wait in vain. But I wanted you to know that for you I shall always have the tenderest feelings.’

  She held out her arms. He took her into his and gave her a long sweet kiss. Then he said: ‘When I come downstairs in a few hours’ time, remember to show as much surprise as the others. Now my pretty, you must go, or one of our housemaids will see you leave my room.’

  He then helped her on with her robe, and from the door watched her tiptoe away down the corridor.

  When in due course he came downstairs everyone was amazed to see him brisk, smiling and entirely restored to his old good humour. Apart from apologising to his Cousin, Clarissa, Penruddock and Fergusson for his boorish behaviour he made no reference to the past; except to say that he felt sure it would have been Amanda’s wish that Clarissa should have all her things, and to distribute the many presents he had brought for her between Clarissa and his Cousin. Then he duly admired and caressed his little daughter, who he decided should be christened Susan Amanda.

  Having disclosed his intention of returning to England, as he had already charged Penruddock with carrying on for him, he had only to spend an hour with the Colonel informally, discussing the affairs of the island. Another hour, with Mr. Beckwith, revealed that during the year he had held the appointment of Governor he had netted well over four thousand pounds, in addition to his salary, and, as the post was unlikely to be taken over for several months to come, he could expect at least another fifteen hundred; which was most satisfactory.

  No ship was expected to leave for England under a fortnight, but a schooner was due to sail from St. Pierre for Jamaica next day; so he decided to take passage in her. Penruddock turned out the regiment there to do him the honours as he went aboard, and, after farewells as cheerful as they could be in the circumstances, the schooner put out from the harbour to the thundering of cannon up in the fortress firing a Governor’s salute.

  On the second day crossing the Caribbean he had great cause to wish that he had waited for a larger ship, as that afternoon the schooner was chased by a Dutch privateers-man. In view of his dire experience the previous year he was for some hours filled with the most nerve-racking apprehensions. But nightfall saved the schooner from capture and on the 15th brought him safely to Kingston, where he found at anchor a large British Fleet.

  The Williamsons were pleased to put him up again, but the General was in poor shape and had a gloomy story to tell. He had spent most of the past year directing operations in Saint-Domingue, but owing to the unreliability of the troops under the French Royalists, lack of stores and the ravages of Yellow Jack among his own men, he had made no headway whatever against Toussaint and the Revolutionaries inspired by Victor Hugues. Ill and worn out by his endeavour to make bricks without straw, he had in the autumn been granted long furlough; but his successor, Sir Ralph Abercromby, had arrived only the previous day.

  The Fleet with which Roger had sailed had, owing to the tempest, had seven transports wrecked on the coast of Dorset with a terrible loss of life. It had then made another false start, during which thirty ships had been driven back into the Solent; so he was, after all, lucky not to have suffered an even greater delay in reaching Barbados.

  That night he met the new C. in C. at dinner. Sir Ralph looked like a Highland terrier. He was purblind and was already sixty-two; but he still possessed tremendous energy and had earned a great military reputation by covering the retreat and evacuation of the British expeditionary force from Holland in the preceding winter.

  Before him there lay a task which would have daunted a lesser man. Apart from the war in Saint-Domingue, there were major slave rebellions to be put down in St. Lucia, Grenada, Dominica and St. Vincent. Demerara had to be taken from the Dutch as it was now being used to fit out French privateers; the Spaniards too, although still technically neutral, were allowing Trinidad to be used for the same purpose; and, last but not least, Victor Hugues, the cause of all the trouble, remained the solidly entrenched master of Guadaloup.

  Sir Ralph heartily blessed Roger for having kept his island in good order and begged him to change his decision about going home. Roger firmly declined, but added that any man should be capable of doing the same provided he observed three maxims. Namely: to win the goodwill of the French inhabitants; to hang half a dozen people at the first sign of trouble, even if some of them should later be proved innocent, rather than allow matters to develop to a point where hundreds might lose their lives in a general conflict; and to place the health of the troops before any other consideration.

  The General heartily agreed with him, and showed the greatest keenness with regard to the last recommendation. Apparently some imbecile in Whitehall had deprived the Scottish regiments of their bonnets and kilts and instead equipped them with broad-brimmed felt hats and duck trousers. The idea of this well-meaning theorist had, been to protect their faces from the sun, and their legs from mosquitoes; but in the tropical rains this new uniform became sodden, and could hot be dried for hours, with the result that pneumonia had now become a scourge second only to Ye
llow Jack. Roger readily acceded to Sir Ralph’s request that on reaching London he should press Mr. Windham as a matter of urgency to have the Scots’ bonnets and kilts restored to them; then he put in a good word for Colonel Penruddock as a capable and reliable man, and wished Sir Ralph success in the numerous campaigns he was about to undertake.

  Two days later he set sail in a fast mail packet for England. She made an excellent crossing and landed him at Liverpool on February the 14th. Next day he took a coach to London, and the following evening was once more installed in Amesbury House; although to his regret he had learned on his arrival that Droopy had temporarily removed himself to Brighton in order to enjoy some winter sunshine. On the morning of the 17th, after a wait of an hour, he secured an interview with Mr. Pitt, and told him the reason for his return.

  Having commiserated with him on his bereavement, the Prime Minister said: ‘From you, Mr. Brook, I need be at no pains to conceal that the Allied cause is now in a more parlous state than ever before; and my anxieties on that account, at times, near as much as I can bear. All that can be done with ships, men and money is being done already; so our best hope of better fortune lies in original ideas carried out by men who have the courage to apply them. You may be able to help us in this way. If so your return is doubly welcome.’

  Roger shook his head. ‘I fear I have nothing to suggest, Sir. I can only say that I have decided to accept your offer to have Mr. Dundas dispose of my Governorship for me, and am now ready to serve you wherever you feel I might prove useful to you.’

  ‘How well informed are you of the present situation?’

  ‘But poorly, Sir. I left here in mid-November and got back to London only yesterday; so I know practically nothing of fresh developments which may have taken place during the past three and a half months.’

  ‘Then I will briefly review them for you.’ Mr. Pitt took a swig of port and went on: ‘The Austro-Sardinian army in Italy managed to hold its own against General Kellerman until the late autumn. But since the French Commander was replaced by General Schérer, things there have gone far from well. At about the same time we relieved Admiral Hotham of the command of the Mediterranean Fleet and appointed in his stead Sir John Jervis. His major task has been to continue the blockade of Toulon; so he could afford to detach only a small squadron, under a promising young senior Captain named Nelson, to do the best they could to interrupt French communications with the Italian coast, In consequence, and probably also because Carnot is once again directing the French war effort, considerable quantities of supplies got through. The French, from being short of everything, were enabled to launch a new offensive.