He was not only a general of the first rank. When, as Napoleon's Viceroy, he had governed north Germany, he had shown himself to be a brilliant, humane and just ruler. Moreover, during the later stages of the Franco-Prussian war, when he had driven a Swedish army from Pomerania, he had captured one of their crack cavalry regiments in Lubeck, invited its officers to dinner and given them some very sound advice on the policy that should be pursued in the best interests of their country.
When approached, Napoleon, who had always been jealous of Bernadotte, had been loath to agree to his aggrandizement, and endeavored to fob off the Swedes with one of his lesser Marshals. But they would not have it. They had sent direct to Bernadotte a deputation consisting of their veteran Field Marshal, Count Hans Henrik von Essen, and several of the officers with whom Bernadotte had talked in Lubeck. And he had accepted.
To the Emperor's fury, when summoned by him Bernadotte had arrived in the uniform of a Swedish Field Marshal, and a most acrimonious discussion had followed, Bernadotte had asked to be relieved of his Princedom of Ponte Corvo, his rank as a Marshal of the Empire and above all, his French citizenship. Napoleon could not believe his ears. He had made three of his brothers and his brother-in-law Kings of foreign countries; but they had all remained Frenchmen and subservient to him. He expected Bernadotte, like Murat, to remain a Marshal, govern as he, Napoleon, directed and, whenever called upon, leave his Kingdom to command an army in his was.
But Bernadotte remained adamant. Courageously he insisted that, if he was to be Prince Royal of Sweden, he must become a Swede. At length, Napoleon gave way but demanded that Sweden should become his ally and place her army at his disposal in any future war. To that, too, Bernadotte refused to agree, maintaining that peace or war was a matter to be decided solely by the will of the Swedish people. Angry, bewildered and not knowing what to reply, the Emperor had succumbed and, in September, Bernadotte had left France to become not, like Napoleon's brothers, a puppet King forced upon a hostile people, but a Royal Prince elected by the will of a nation.
Roger wondered how Bernadotte's wife, Desiree, would like being Princess Royal among a haughty, ancient aristocracy. She and her sister Julie were the daughters of a Marseilles silk merchant named Clary; and Julie, having married Napoleon's elder brother, Joseph, was now technically Queen of Spain.
He knew Desiree much better than he did her husband, as he had been acquainted with the Clarys for many years. When Bonaparte had been a down-at-heels artillery officer, the wealthy Clarys had welcomed him and Joseph into their family circle. As both the girls had large dowries, the brothers had asked for their hands in marriage. Their father was dead, and their brother had reluctantly consented. Joseph had married Julie, but Napoleon, although Desiree was his first love, had jilted her to marry the aristocratic Josephine de Beauharnais. But the Emperor had always retained a soft spot for Desiree; and it was he who, as he happened to be reading a book with a hero named Oscar at the time of her son's birth, had insisted that she should give the child that name.
As things had turned out, it could not have been more appropriate, and Roger wondered how much Napoleon's affection for his old love had contributed to his letting Bernadotte have his way, instead of having him arrested as a potential danger. But he could not think that, having been brought up in the sunshine of the South of France, pretty, retrousse-nosed, little Desiree was going to enjoy much the bitter cold of a northern Kingdom.
When he asked Bourrienne how Bernadotte had been doing during his first months as Prince Regent, his friend shook his head.
'Owing to her wars of the past seventeen years, Sweden has become a miserably poor country. Ponte Corvo was of course, extremely wealthy. While a Marshal of the Empire he had amassed the fortune of a multi-millionaire, and my spies tell me that he is using it all to pay Sweden's debts. But his position is very precarious. The Emperor has demanded that he should subscribe to the Continental System and prohibit all commerce with England. If he does so, Sweden will face final ruin. If he does not, his old enemy, Davout, has orders to use his army here to invade Sweden. From Denmark that could be done with ease. Our allies, the Danes, would be delighted, and Sweden has no army worth the name with which to defend herself.'
Roger nodded. 'So that's how things stand. Well, Bernadotte is undoubtedly a courageous man and, by the standard of the times, an upright one; so one can only hope that he pulls through.'
Three days later Roger said good bye to his old friend and went aboard an American ship that plied regularly between Hull and Hamburg, bringing English woollens over to the Continent. The weather proved fair and the voyage uneventful. On the evening of October 18th, he landed in England, and the following night he arrived in London; now home for good, all his adventures and perils behind him, and about to start a new life with his divine Georgina.
As was his custom, he went straight to the Earl of Amesbury's mansion in Arlington Street, as his Lordship's son, Lord Edward Fitz-Deverel lived there, and whenever Roger came to London, was delighted to have him as a guest.
When the front door was opened by a footman, it chanced that Droopy Ned was just crossing the hall. Turning to see who the visitor was, he peered at Roger with his short-sighted eyes. Suddenly, he dropped the book he was carrying and cried:
'God stap me! I'm seeing a ghost?
Advancing, Roger laughed, 'No, dear Ned. I am no ghost, although I know you believed me dead. Tis my very self, home again at last, and overjoyed to see you.'
The two old friends hugged each other, then Roger asked, 'What of Georgina; is she well?'
'She was, as ever, in bounteous health when I saw her not long since.'
'Where is she, Ned? Down at Stillwater’s? I cannot wait to see her.'
'Nay, she is not at Stillwater’s, but down at Newbury, Droopy replied.
Roger grinned. 'And what, pray, is she doing there? What e'er it be, I'll fetch her back within twenty-four hours. For, know you, before we parted seven months ago, she at last promised to marry me.'
A look of consternation suddenly appeared on Droopy's face and he blurted out, 'Oh, Roger, my dear! How can I tell you? But she married again, only a se'nnight since. She is now Her Grace the Duchess of Kew.'
10
A Limited Compensation
During the long years since Roger had run away from home to escape having to become a midshipman, Fate had dealt him many savage blows; but never one so shattering as this. His eyes wide with surprise and shock, he stared at his friend and whispered:
'It can't be true!'
Droopy Ned shook his head. 'Alas, dear Roger, it is. Like myself, she believed you dead. We both received your letters written in a cell for the condemned, and with mine there was a cutting from a Berlin news sheet. It stated that you had been executed that morning.'
"The article had been printed overnight, before it was known that Marshal Davout had succeeded in getting my sentence commuted to ten years' imprisonment.'
'Thank God for that. But we never learned of it. Georgina and I both mourned you as dead. She was so stricken that she shut herself up for ten days and refused to see anyone. Then she wore black for you for three months, as though you had been her husband.'
'But, dam'me Ned, to marry again! Before she wed von Haugwitz she had remained a widow for years. Why, in God's name, should she again rush into matrimony so swiftly?'
With a shrug of his narrow shoulders, Droopy replied, 'Several factors I think contributed to that. She told me that with your death all that was best in her life had ended. Her youth was over, and all zest for pleasure gone. She must resign herself to middle age. Her father's death, coming shortly after we received news of yours, was also a big blow to her.'
'What! Colonel Thursby dead?'
'Yes, of a heart seizure in mid-July.'
'Oh, poor Georgina!' Roger exclaimed. "Twas he who furnished her fine mind with a thousand matters that are closed books to most women, and so enabled her to enchant her friends with intellect a
s well as beauty. He came second only to myself in her affections; and spent a great part of each year with her. I, too, shall miss him sadly, for he was more a father to me than my own. But why, Ned, why if she sought distraction from her sorrows, must she marry, of all people, old K? He must be near twice her age, and has a most unsavoury reputation.'
'Old K', as the Duke of Kew was popularly known, was indeed a far from pleasant character. He was immensely rich and a great patron of the Turf. He had a big house at Newmarket and, when younger, had often backed himself to win a sackful of guineas by competing either in horse races or driving a tandem. But he was a slovenly man who took no care for his appearance, often going about in awful old clothes and a battered hat. This, and other eccentricities, together with his well-known lewdness and lechery, had long made him notorious.
Again Droopy shrugged. 'I think she was in so sad a state that she cared not what became of her. He had pursued her all through last season; and, you may recall, she had oft boasted that she would become a Duchess before her hair turned grey. It may be that in accepting him she felt she was bowing to a decree of Fate.'
'Well, she's got her full coronet of strawberry leaves,' Roger said bitterly, 'and left me to moan the loveliest dream of my life.'
Taking him by the arm, Droopy said, 'Come, Roger, let us go upstairs. A glass of wine will at least make you feel no worse.'
'A glass!' Roger gave a harsh laugh. 'Tis a bottle I need; nay, a dozen.'
And he meant what he said. When, on returning to the West Indies at the end of 1795, he had learned that his wife, Amanda, had recently died in giving birth to their daughter, Susan, he had made himself drunk for a week. Now he followed that precedent and, for days, never left his bedroom while emptying bottle after bottle of Madeira. In vain Droopy begged him to moderate his potations, fearing that he would do himself an injury; but he remained maudlin and almost silent day after day while nursing his grief.
Lord Edward Fitz-Deverel was an unusual character for the age in which he lived. He abhorred all blood sports, horses, and any form of exercise. His interests lay in ancient religions, collecting antique jewellery and experimenting on himself with Eastern drugs. On the eighth morning after Roger had become his guest, he was amusing himself by translating a Greek papyrus that had come from Egypt. To his surprise, Roger came into his room, freshly shaven and dressed with his usual, almost foppish, elegance. The only signs of his long debauch were a slight watering of his eyes and the redness of his face. Sitting down, he crossed his silk stockinged legs and said:
'Well, Ned. I fear I've behaved like a very sot this past week; but, at least I've got the plaguey bile out of my system. I'm now as resigned as ever I am like to be to Georgina's having married.'
'Zeus be praised for that/ Droopy replied, rubbing his high-bridged nose with a long, slender finger. 'And what now are your plans? You know that, as ever, you are welcome to stay here as long as you wish.'
"Thanks, Ned. I'll gladly accept your hospitality until
I can settle on how to occupy myself in the future. But tomorrow I'd like to go down to Stillwater’s and spend a night or two there. That is, if Georgina has left my little Susan in her Great-Aunt Marsham's care.'
'She has, at least for the present, while she is-er- during these first weeks of her marriage.'
Roger gave a cynical laugh. 'You would have said, "while she is on her honeymoon", eh? Though how she can bring herself to pleasure that old roué passes my comprehension. But we'll not dwell on that. I'll take a stroll round the town now, and buy some gee-gaws for my daughter.'
On her return to England in the spring, Georgina had given Droopy a true account of the events at Schloss Langenstein, so that evening Roger had only to relate the story of his imprisonment and escape.
Next morning he rode the twenty miles to Stillwater’s, near Ripley in Surrey, which had long been Georgina's home. The day following his arrival, Droopy Ned had sent a messenger down to let Mrs. Marsham and Susan know that Roger was not dead; so they received no shock when he entered the house and greeted them. As for the greater part of his manhood he had lived abroad, his daughter was almost a stranger to him; so he was most agreeably surprised when she cried out with delight and threw herself into his arms.
Susan was now nearly fifteen and well developed for her age. She had her mother's auburn hair, freckles and blue eyes, with a feminine version of Roger's finely-chiselled features. There could be no doubt that, within a few years, she would be one of the toasts of the town. He felt justly proud of her, and her joy in seeing him again greatly added to his pleasure in giving her the costly furs and jewels suitable to her age that he had brought with him.
But before he had been in the house for long he was overcome by the same depression he had felt during his last visit, when Georgina had been in Germany and married to von Haugwitz. The stately mansion, with its lovely garden, woods and lake, gave him little pleasure now that they were no longer animated by her gay spirit. As he wandered about the splendid, lofty, now empty salons, he was filled with nostalgia as he recalled the days when they had been crowded with statesmen, poets, ambassadors, painters and lovely women. A visit to the suite so often occupied by Colonel Thursby caused him new grief at the loss of that gentle, clever and dear friend; while Georgina's rooms, their fine furniture now under covers, brought home to him more strongly than ever the bitter disappointment he had suffered on learning that it was now no longer possible for him to make her his wife. Sitting down on the side of her big bed he thought of the way in which they had often frolicked in it, and was near to bursting into tears.
On the morning after his arrival he felt that he could bear to remain there no longer; yet was plagued by the thought of his duty to Susan. Often enough he had reproached himself for having been such a bad father; and, now that he had the opportunity of repairing his neglect of the girl, he was contemplating leaving her again within a matter of hours.
Then he hit upon a plan that greatly revived his spirits. He meant, in any case, shortly to live again at Thatched House Lodge in Richmond Park, a 'Grace and Favour residence of which Mr. Pitt had given him the life tenancy for his services to the Crown. He would have Aunt Marsham and Susan to live with him there for a while.
That afternoon he told them of his plan. Mrs. Marsham said that such a change would be pleasant, and Susan jumped for joy. Then, struck by a thought, she said, 'But, Papa, we must be back here by mid-December, for Charles will be returning from Eton.'
She had been brought up with Georgina's boy, and knowing their devotion to each other Roger replied, 'Unless his mother has other plans for him, we'll have him, too, at Richmond, and make it a truly merry Christmas.' Half an hour later he had mounted his horse and was on his way back to London.
After riding a few miles it suddenly occurred to him that if the report of his death had reached the Prime Minister, the tenancy of Thatched House Lodge might, by now, have been given to somebody else; so he made a slight detour in order to go there. To his considerable relief he found Dan Izzard, the ex-smuggler who acted as caretaker for him, up on the roof replacing a broken tile. As had always been the case after Roger's long absences, the house and garden had been well cared for and Dan, although now ageing, was still hale and hearty. Since Amanda's death Roger had occupied the house only for brief periods at long intervals, so it had not even occurred to Dan that his master might be dead, and, giving a cheerful hail, the old salt came nimbly down the ladder to welcome him.
Roger stayed only long enough to knock back a noggin of rum with his bearded retainer, and tell him to engage an adequate staff during the coming week; then he rode on in the gathering twilight to Arlington Street.
For the next ten days he took up again the life he normally led while in the capital. It was the dead season, so many of the big mansions in the West End were closed and shuttered, while their owners took toll of pheasants and partridges in the country. But Parliament was in session, the leading clubs: White's, Brook's, B
oodle's and Almack's, still had their quotas of gamblers every night, a play at Drury Lane was nightly drawing crowds, there were several other good pieces on and a number of exhibitions.
As Roger and Droopy were both members of White's, they went there frequently, and Roger was soon brought up-to-date with the political scene. Early in 1806, after over fourteen years of unremitting effort by Pitt to check the destruction by the French of the old order in Europe, Napoleon's victory at Austerlitz had broken the Third Coalition and, with it, Pitt's heart. Exhausted and in despair, the great champion of true liberty had turned his face to the wall and died.
His Ministry had shortly been followed by one led by his lifelong rival, James Fox. It had been composed mainly of Whigs and been termed, 'The Ministry of All the Talents'. But it had turned out to be a coalition of weak, discordant men who lacked all initiative in prosecuting the war. Fox's death, that September, had heralded the end of its short life and, for two decades, rule by the Whigs.
In December the Duke of Portland had brought together a Cabinet with Spencer Perceval as Prime Minister. Perceval was a very skilful politician, and a fluent orator, but not a very forceful personality. However, he had George Canning as Foreign Secretary, and Lord Castlereagh as his Secretary of State for War.
At Oxford Canning had been one of a circle of brilliant young Whigs, but his admiration for Pitt brought him over to the Tories. In 1800 he married Portland's sister-in-law, who was a great heiress. He was made Postmaster General, then in 1807 Perceval had given him the Foreign Office.
Castlereagh had made his name as Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. He had fought hard for Union and Catholic-emancipation; but George III had rejected these measures so stubbornly that, in 1801, Pitt had resigned and Castlereagh with him. In 1805, on Pitt's return to office, Castlereagh had been made Secretary of State for War and, later, under Perceval, again filled that office.
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