‘One hundred louis.’
‘Such an offer is absurd, and you know it! To this woman the securing of her future must, at the very least, be worth a thousand.’
‘It might be if she had a thousand; but she has not. It is I who am paying, simply to buy her future goodwill. To me that is worth one hundred, and no more. That is double what you might hope to get from her direct; as did you press her to the limit I doubt if she could raise fifty to keep you quiet. Remember, too, that having settled with you I shall still have to deal with the person who has the diary.’
‘What sum do you propose to offer for it?’
‘By adopting your own plan, I hope to get it for nothing. I have no doubt that if I tell Barras a suitable story he will furnish me with a deportation order. The threat to execute it should be enough to ensure the surrender of the diary. But rather than go to extremes, which might result in the story getting about, some payment may be necessary to clinch the matter; so for your part in it I’ll go to no more than a hundred.’
Fouché’s red-rimmed eyes narrowed slightly as he stared down at his long bony hands, which lay crossed upon the table. Suddenly he spoke again. ‘You have always stood well with Barras, and the casualness with which you speak of getting a deportation order from him is evidence that you do so still. I’ll make a bargain with you. Get him to give me some post and I’ll forgo the hundred louis.’
‘I have already told you that he is averse to giving you anything.’
‘ ’Tis true that he refused the pretty Créole; but perhaps he feels that he has already done enough for her. If you put in a good word for me he might view the matter differently.’
‘I greatly doubt it.’
‘I feel sure he would; particularly if the request were a modest one. I will forgo my hopes of a Prefecture, or something of that kind. Let it be only a Commissionership in the Post, or Customs, or in connection with Supplies. Anything will serve provided it enables me to get back into the service of the Government. Surely you could persuade him to do that much for me.’
Roger considered for a moment. After all, it meant nothing to him if there was one rogue more or less in the Directory’s Administration; and Fouché was not asking for the moon. If he could be procured a minor post and the British Government be saved a hundred louis in consequence, so much the better.
‘Very well, then.’ With a nod, Roger stood up. ‘Mark me, I promise nothing; but I’ll do my best for you. Now, what is the name and address of the person who has the diary?’
Fouché too stood up, but he shook his head. ‘I fear you must wait for that until I learn what Barras is prepared to do for me.’
‘No.’ Roger’s voice was sharp. ‘This matter is of no great importance to me, and I’ve no mind to run back and forth to Barras about it. That he will not give me a blank deportation order is certain; so if I am to ask for one I must have the name. Give it me and when I ask him for the order I will also ask him to do something for you. If that does not content you, then you had best count me out of the matter altogether.’
As Fouché could have no means of knowing the immense importance that Roger actally did attach to the affair, and, from his point of view, the great urgency of settling it, he was taken in by the bluff, and said:
‘I see that I must trust you. The woman’s name…’
‘Woman?’ Roger echoed in surprise.
‘Yes; woman. She is the sister of a mulatto, who before the Revolution was a footman in the Beauharnais household.’
‘I see. Yes; Madame de Beauharnais mentioned him to me. Please go on.’ ‘Her name is Madame Rémy.’ ‘And her address?’
Fouché hesitated and, Roger guessed, was about to hold it back as a last card, on the pretext that to secure the deportation order it was not necessary; but now he had the name the game was in his hands, and he said quickly:
‘Come! Since you have trusted me so far, there is nought to be gained by hedging. I need only ask Barras to put his police on to her to have her run to earth.’
‘True. Very well then. She lives not far from the prison of La Force. You proceed past it down to a row of dwellings that back on to the short stretch of river between the bridge to the Isle St. Louis and the bridge to the Isle Louvier. Her lodging was at one time an artist’s studio and lies on the immediate right of a drinking den frequented by the wharf-hands who work in those parts.’
‘Good. Tomorrow morning there is this big parade of troops returned from La Vendée, at which the Directors are to take the salute; so I shall not be able to secure an interview with Barras until the afternoon at earliest. Be in all the evening, and some time during it I will call to let you know what Barras has decided regarding you.’
With a nod, Fouché followed Roger out into the passage. As he opened the front door for him, he said: This means a great deal to me. Please remember that and do your utmost to get me something with a salary which will enable me to keep my wife in a little comfort.’
‘Everything depends upon how deeply Barras is prejudiced against you,’ Roger replied, ‘but I promise you I will do my best.’ Then he went out into the night.
As soon as he had dined on the following day, Roger went to the Luxembourg. It was a dull, rainy afternoon and the twilight of early March was already falling as he descended from a hired coach outside the Palace. Having paid off the man, he sent up his name, but he had to kick his heels in an antechamber for over an hour before M. Bottot came out and said that Barras was free to see him.
As soon as they were seated, Barras said: ‘When your name was brought in I was on the point of sending for you, to let you know that our project with regard to Madame de Beauharnais has now become one of the greatest urgency. Since you were last here I have had no opportunity to see her, and if she is still opposed to the match, this evening is our last chance to persuade her to alter her mind. The question of Buonaparte’s appointment is the first item on the Comité’s agenda for tomorrow morning.’
‘Then I am happy to be able to tell you,’ smiled Roger, ‘that the matter is settled; and favourably to our designs. Or all but settled.’
‘All but?’ repeated Barras, with a sharp lift of his eyebrows.
‘Yes. As I told you two days ago, she had an appointment to consult Le Normand. Her visit to the sibyl convinced her that by accepting Buonaparte she would ensure both herself and her children a brilliant future. On their account even more than her own she is now anxious to make the match; but one thing still deters her from committing herself. She is being blackmailed.’
‘On account of what?’
‘An episode in her past which she refused to disclose. Naturally, once married and with funds at her disposal, she fears that the screw will be turned upon her. That would be bad enough, but should there come a point at which she could no longer pay, the blackmailer might make the matter public.’
Barras shrugged. ‘Surely she is making a mountain out of a molehill. Everyone, including Buonaparte, knows well enough that the life she has led since her husband’s death has been far from irreproachable.’
‘I agree; and so can only suppose that the episode was of a somewhat different nature from a clandestine amour the disclosure of which might do no more than tarnish her reputation.’
‘I wonder, then, what the devil it could have been.’
‘As far as we are concerned the particulars of it are, surely, quite irrelevant. What does concern us is her fear that, should it be made public subsequent to her marriage, Buonaparte would suffer so greatly in his amour propre, that in one of his well-known furies he might do her a damage. Hence her refusal to accept him, unless this menace to her peace of mind can first be removed.’
‘If she will provide us with a lead to the blackmailer, I can put a discreet man in the police on to it,’ Barras said with a frown. ‘But the devil of it is that we now have so little time.’
‘I already have the lead,’ Roger replied quietly. ‘And tonight should be time enough in which to do the
job, providing you will give me your assistance.’
‘Thank God for that! After first raising my hopes, you had me badly worried. What help do you want from me?’
‘The blackmailer is a woman named Madame Rémy. As she lives down by the docks she can be of no social consequence; so her disappearance will cause little comment. Give me an order for a squad of troops, so that I may arrest her, and another for her immediate deportation to Cayenne.’
Barras nodded. ‘You are right. That is the way to deal with this. Few people survive the fevers there for more than a few months; and even if she did succeed in escaping, with the order still in force against her, she would never again dare to show her face in France.’
Drawing two sheets of paper towards him he quickly wrote out the transportation order, and another empowering Roger to collect a squad of men for duty from the palace guard. As he pushed them across the table, Roger said:
‘There is another matter. Joseph Fouché is involved in this. You will recall that Madame de Beauharnais has several times begged you to give him some post?’
‘And I refused her!’ cut in Barras with a frown.
‘So you told me. But you then knew nothing of this affair. In it he has been acting as a go-between. With his usual cleverness when fishing in troubled waters, he hoped first to land himself a post, then use it to obtain a deportation order against the blackmailer.’
The corners of Barras’s mouth turned down in a sneer. ‘Why not say that, with his usual treachery, he hoped first to land himself a post, then use it to betray this Madame Rémy whose employment of him had enabled him to obtain it?’
Roger shrugged. The one statement is as true as the other; and the last thing I would undertake is to defend Fouché’s morality. I was thinking of the issue simply as Madame de Beauharnais undoubtedly did when she made her plea for him to you. The question is, what can you do for him?’
‘Do for him? Nothing! Now that you have stepped into his shoes for the eliminating of the blackmailer, why should I do anything?’
‘Because without his help our hands would still be tied. It was he who gave me Madame Rémy’s name, and her address. In return I promised to do my best to persuade you to find him a place—preferably in the Police.’
‘In the Police! God forbid! I would be out of my wits did I give such a knave the chance to spy upon us and learn all our secrets.’
‘Very well then; something in the Customs, or, perhaps, Education. He was once a teacher.’
‘Nay, I’ll not do it!’ Barras shook His head. ‘The Directory is already unpopular enough, for a score of reasons. During the Terror Fouché made himself one of the worst hated men in France. To give him a post of any importance would arouse howls of protest in both Chambers.’
‘Then let it be some minor position to which no one can take any great exception: chief of one of the Supply Depots, or a Prison. At the moment he is keeping pigs for a living; so any place where he could earn a reasonable income at a desk would be counted by him a blessing.’
‘No! Let him continue to keep pigs. I’ll do nothing for him!’
‘I think in refusing you make a great mistake,’ Roger said seriously. ‘The man is near desperate; so might prove a danger to us.’
‘In what way? With the actual blackmailer you now have the means to deal. Fouché has acted only as a go-between.’
‘Even so, that has enabled him to learn La Belle Creole’s secret. Admittedly he could bring no proof of her lapse, whatever it may have been; but there is nought to stop him from accusing her of it. How he gets his information these days, I’ve no idea; but somehow he had picked up the rumour that she is contemplating marriage with Buonaparte. Unless you provide him with something to keep his mouth shut, there is always the risk that out of spite he will go to the General. His word alone, if the story he tells is sufficiently plausible, might be enough to put Buonaparte off the match; then we’d have had all our trouble for nothing.’
‘I see, I see,’ Barras murmured, half closing his eyes. ‘You are right. In that way he might still upset our plans at the last moment; and the one thing we cannot afford to risk is the marriage falling through after Buonaparte has been appointed to the command of the Army of Italy. Very well then.’
Taking another sheet of headed paper he wrote several lines upon it, signed it, sanded it, put it in an envelope, sealed it, then gave it to Roger with the remark:
‘There! That should serve to keep his mouth shut. Take it to him with my compliments. When you have dealt with the other matter I should be glad if you would return here, however late the hour may be. I must know that everything has been settled satisfactorily before the Comité meets tomorrow morning.’
Roger took the jewelled watch from his fob and glanced at it. The time is now ten minutes past seven. I see no reason, if the woman is at home, why this business should take me more than two hours. Should it do so you will know that I am having to wait at her dwelling for her; but at latest I should be back by midnight.’
Down in the great entrance hall he presented his order for a squad of men to the Lieutenant on duty, who from the reserve guard furnished him with a Corporal and three guardsmen. A hired coach was called up and they all got into it, then Roger gave the coachman Fouché’s address, as he had decided to see him first before making the much longer journey to the other side of the river.
They were hardly out of the Palace courtyard before it became apparent that the Corporal, a middle-aged man with a walrus moustache, who said his name was Peltier, was both garrulous and disgruntled. Now that free speech could again be indulged in without fear of prosecution, everyone aired their criticism of the Government, but he seemed particularly bitter about the turn things had taken.
He was, he declared, a ‘patriot’, and had deserved far better of his country than it had done for him. Had he not been one of those who had led the attack on the Bastille on the never to be forgotten 14th of July, and fought with the brutal Swiss Guards in the gardens of the Tuileries on the equally glorious day when the Tyrant and his Austrian Whore had been made prisoners by the People; yet here he was still a Corporal. And the country had gone from bad to worse. He and men like him had shed their blood to rid it of the aristos who for centuries had battened on its life-blood. For a while it had looked as if true liberty had dawned at last; but the Revolution was being betrayed by self-seekers and speculators. They were letting the aristos come back, and worse, imitating them. What was needed was another Marat to rouse the People to their danger, and another Santerre to lead the men of the Faubourgs against the reactionaries.
Far from being impressed, Roger listened to this tirade with some impatience. He thought it unlikely that the man had been at the taking of the Bastille, and doubted if he had ever shot at anyone capable of returning his fire. He was a typical ex-sans-culotte, for whom ‘liberty’ meant the right to rob, rape and murder his betters without fear of reprisal, and who had almost certainly got himself into the Convention Guard in order to escape being called up and sent on active service.
As they had not far to go the drive was soon over. Pulling up the coach at the entrance to the cul-de-sac in which Fouché lived, Roger got out, walked along to his house and knocked on the door. It was opened by Fouché himself. With a word of greeting Roger handed him the missive from Barras, and said:
‘I bring this with Barras’s compliments. He agreed that you merit attention and should be given a new field, even if a small one, for your talents.’Twill at least enable you to say good-bye to your pigs.’ Then, having no love for Fouché, he bid him an abrupt good night, turned on his heel and walked back towards the coach.
He was only half way to it when he heard a shout. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Fouché was running after him; so he called out:
‘What is it? What’s the matter?’
‘The matter!’ screamed Fouché waving the document that Barras had sent him. ‘Why this? This infernal order! How dare you trick me in this fashio
n.’
‘I’ve played no trick upon you,’ Roger exclaimed in surprise.
Stamping with rage Fouché shook the offending document in his face. ‘You must have known what was in this! You must have! Your own words as you gave it me condemn you.“ ’Twill enable you to say good-bye to your pigs.” That is what you said. And that Barras “agreed that I should be given a new field”. A new field indeed! Oh, Mort Dieu, Mort Dieu! May you both be damned for ever!’
Roger stared at him uncomprehendingly, and muttered: ‘I have not the faintest idea what you are talking about.’
‘My poor wife! My little daughter!’ Fouché exclaimed with a sob. ‘As though things were not bad enough with us already. And now this!’ Suddenly he burst into tears.
It was at that moment that a footfall behind Roger caused him to turn. To his annoyance he saw that Corporal Peltier had left the coach and was lumbering towards them.
‘Get back to the coach,’ he said sharply. This is no business of yours.’ But the garrulous Corporal came to a halt, stood his ground, and declared truculently:
‘Oh yes it is! That’s Citizen Fouché standin’ there. I thought I recognised ‘is voice when I ‘eard ‘im ’Olla. ‘E’s one o’ the best, an’ an ole frien’ o’ mine. What’s goin’ on ‘ere? What’ave yer done to’im?’
‘I had to bring him some bad news,’ snapped Roger. ‘Now, begone with you.’
Fouché had meanwhile regained control of himself, and as he dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief, the Corporal, ignoring Roger’s order, addressed him.
‘Remember me, Citizen Fouché? Name of Jacques Peltier. I were in Lyons with yer. What time we ‘ad there eh? Remember ’ow we tied the Bible ter the donkey’s tail an’ fed ‘im on ‘oly wafers; then made them nuns dance the Carmagnol? What a night we ‘ad of it too wi’ some ’o them novices. Those were the days. No one couldn’t push a patriot arahnd then. You must remember me, Jacques Peltier.’
‘Yes,’ snuffled Fouché. ‘Yes, Citizen Peltier, I remember you. But we are discussing a private matter; so be pleased to leave us.’
The Dark Secret of Josephine Page 51
