The Rising Storm rb-3

by Dennis Wheatley

  "By this demand for Gibraltar in exchange for a barren shore, to which the claim of Spain is by no means fully established, I fear Your Excellency has seen fit to trifle with me; but excusably perhaps, through my youth and inexperience giving so poor an impression of that which I represent. I would remind you now that behind the message I have brought lies the inflexible purpose of the greatest power in the world, and friendship with…"

  "The greatest power!" exclaimed Florida Blanca haughtily. "Monsieur, you forget that you address a Spaniard; and that long before your country…"

  With a swift gesture Roger cut him short. "I speak of the present. No other country than my own has within living memory fought a world in arms and emerged from the conflict unbroken. Friendship with my country would secure Spain her South American Empire; by war with Britain Spain would risk everything. I beg Your Excellency to allow me to return to my master with the happy tidings that you are prepared to enter into a peaceful settlement on the basis I have had the honour to convey to you."

  The Count stubbornly shook his head. "That is impossible, without further consideration."

  "How long does Your Excellency require? Not, permit me to add, before inviting me to discuss this matter again; but to give me a definite reply."

  "How long are you prepared to give me?"

  Roger knew that if he named a period of any length it would only be taken advantage of to the disadvantage of his country. If the Count meant to give way at all there was nothing whatever to prevent his doing so after an interval just sufficient to save his face. So he replied firmly:

  "A further forty-eight hours should be ample for Your Excellency to decide so simple a question, and I cannot go beyond it."

  Florida Blanca knew that it would be the best part of forty-eight days before he could expect a definite assurance of support from Paris, so it seemed pointless to keep this determined young man on a hook for a mere two days. He shrugged and said:

  "Then I can only suggest that you should return to Mr. Pitt and tell him that the matter still has our most earnest consideration."

  Roger bowed, turned and walked towards the door. Just before he passed through it he dropped one of the doeskin gloves he was carrying on the floor. It was his last card; the Prime Minister could either appear to think he had performed the act unwittingly and send it to him with a suggestion that, after all, it might be worth their having a further talk next day, or accept it as a symbol that Mr. Pitt really did intend to go to war.

  As he left the Palace the thought that he had failed in his mission filled him with distress. He wondered if he had made too little allowance for Spanish pride, and acted too precipitately. Yet, on going over his two interviews with Count Florida Blanca again in his mind, he could not believe that he had. From his first receiving Mr. Pitt's instructions he had frequently thought of the conduct of his earliest friend in the diplomatic service, Lord Malmesbury, in very similar circumstances, twenty years earlier.

  His Lordship had then been Mr. James Harris and a very junior official in the British Embassy at Madrid. In the summer heats of 1770 he had been temporarily left there as Charge d’Affaires. It had come to his knowledge that the Spaniards in Buenos Aires had secretly fitted out an expedition against the Falkland Islands, captured them, and expelled the British colonists. On his own responsibility he had instantly gone to the Spanish Prime Minister and threatened war unless the Falkland Islands were evacuated and full satisfaction for this unpro­voked assault afforded. The Spaniards had swallowed their pride then and acceded to his demands before the big guns of Whitehall had even been drawn into the matter. Roger felt that his language could have been no higher than that the now famous diplomat must have used, and in his case he had done no more than carry out very definite instructions. It was simply bad luck that the Spaniards felt either full confidence in French support, or that they could afford to ignore his challenge and still gain a little time before having to burn their boats.

  Nevertheless, the thought that he had suffered defeat in the first diplomatic mission entrusted to him was extremely galling. He was, moreover, very conscious that far greater issues than his own prestige were involved, for his inability to carry home a satisfactory answer now meant that war was almost inevitable.

  That night he sat up very late, hoping against hope that Florida Blanca might yet send his glove back with an invitation to another audience. But no messenger came, and as he still sat on he began to think of the dreary, hideously uncomfortable journey upon which he must set out next morning back across Spain and Portugal

  It was then that the inspiration came to him. It needed more than a piece of paper to make an alliance of any value. In the event of its terms becoming operative both the countries that had signed it must take steps for active co-operation. In the present case Spain appeared ready to go to war, but France had not yet signified her willingness to do so. If by some means he could prevent France from honouring the Family Compact he would, after all, have succeeded in his mission.

  He still had Mr. Pitt's Letter of Marque. He knew very well that it had been intended only as a credential to be used at the Court of Spain, but it was not addressed to anybody in particular. It simply said:

  Mr. Roger Brook knows my mind upon the matter of Nootka Sound, and is commissioned by me to speak upon it.

  And it was signed by Britain's Prime Minister. It could be used every bit as effectually in Paris as it could in Aranjuez. Roger knew somebody in Paris whom he thought would listen to him on his producing that letter. Somebody who still had very considerable influence, and, by causing France to refuse Spain's request for armed support, might yet prevent a war.

  For greater speed he had already decided to face the horror of the Spanish inns and travel on horseback instead of in a coach. First thing next morning he arranged for horses and an interpreter. For full measure he gave Florida Blanca until after the siesta hour, but no messenger came to return his glove.

  On April 26th at four o'clock in the afternoon, in a forlorn hope that he might yet save the peace of Europe, he set out for Paris.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  A la Lanterne

  ROGER reached Paris on May 13th. He had used every means in his power to expedite his journey, but even with hard riding it had taken him eight days to get from Madrid to Pamplona, then another two on muleback, skirting hair-raising precipices through the misty passes of the Pyrenees, before he reached Bayonne. After that his passage had been far swifter, although no less exhausting, as he had travelled night and day by fast post-chaise.

  He arrived in Paris dead-beat, but vastly cheered by two matters of the greatest importance to him. Although Don Diego's party had left Aranjuez twelve days in advance of himself he had passed it two nights before at Orleans. Isabella had then still been alive and he had succeeded in stealing forty-eight hours' march on what he now regarded as the rival Embassy.

  From Bordeaux onwards he had enquired at every principal inn for news of the travellers ahead, and at six o'clock on the evening of the nth he had caught up with them. The four coaches that made up their cavalcade were being washed down in the yard of the Hotel St. Aignau, and he had learned that they intended to dine and pass the night there. A cautious reconnaissance had given him a glimpse of the party through a downstairs window, and having seen that Isabella looked perfectly well he had driven on through the night towards Paris.

  Had it not been for a breakdown that night outside Toury, which delayed him several hours, he would have been in the capital by the following evening, but as it was his post-chaise did not set him down at La Belle Etoile until the early hours of the Thursday morning. Worn out as he was he knew that he would be fit for nothing that day, so he slept through it, and got up only to have an evening meal.

  After it, in order to bring himself up to date with events in France during his three months' absence, he invited his old friend, Monsieur Blanchard, to join him in a bottle of wine. When they had settled down in the parlour, in r
eply to Roger's first question the landlord replied:

  "Alas, Monsieur, Things here are no better than when you left us. Money and bread are scarce, and Monsieur de Lafayette seems quite incapable of keeping order. Not a day passes but there is some disturb­ance and people killed without the perpetrators of such crimes being brought to justice. Since the execution of the Marquis de Favras the mobs have taken openly to hanging people that they do not like."

  "De Favras," murmured Roger. "He was accused of being mixed up in some counter-revolutionary plot with the Comte de Provence last winter, was he not? I recall that his trial was taking place at the time I left for England."

  The Norman nodded. "Whether the King's brother was really involved I know not, but he saved himself from accusation by giving evidence against de Favras; and under the new law that decrees the same punishment for all classes the Marquis was hanged. 'Twas the first time a nobleman has ever died by the rope, and the sight of his body dangling from a gibbet in the Place de Grève seems to have set a fashion for the scum of the Faubourgs to murder their victims in that way. You will know how our lamps in Paris are strung up Dy ropes to their posts, so that they can be lowered to be lit or put out. 'Tis easy as winking to lower the nearest lantern, detach it, and string up a man in its place. Two or three times a week now, when the mob catches some unfortunate whom it does not like, the cry goes up 'A la lanterne! A la lanterne! and before the National Guard can come to his rescue he is choking his life out at the top of a pole."

  "And what of the Royal Family?" Roger asked.

  "They are still at the Tuileries. It is said that many plots have been made to carry them off from Paris, and each time there is a rumour of one the mob threatens to storm the Palace. The nearest they got to doing so was about a month ago. There was some shooting and a few people were killed, but the National Guard succeeded in driving off the rioters."

  "The National Assembly is, then, no nearer achieving a strong and stable Government than when I was here last?"

  Monsieur Blanchard shook his head. "Nay. 'Tis if anything more uncertain of itself; and more than ever dominated by the mobs and what passes at a Club called the Jacobins. Soon after you left us the Assembly elected the Bishop of Autun as its President. He seems a man of sense, but he is greatly hated by his own Order, and all who hold the Church in regard; particularly since his measure last November for confiscating all Church property has been seized upon as an excuse for many outrages. The intention was to sell a great part of the Church lands and fill the empty coffers of the nation with the proceeds; but the sans­culottes put a different interpretation on it. They say they are the 'nation' and that the riches of the Church now belong to them. So there have been numerous cases of mobs breaking into religious institutions to rob them of their altar plate, and any money that is to be found in their treasuries."

  Roger asked many other questions, and although no event of major importance had taken place and no great riots on a scale of those in the preceding year, it was a grim tale of the general dissolution of order and increased lawlessness that the honest Norman had to unfold. In all but name the mob were now the masters and although, in a big city like Paris, the average citizen rarely actually witnessed an act of violence, unpunished killings and lootings were constantly occurring in one part or another of it.

  Just as Roger was about go up to his room again, Monsieur Blanchard said: "Since Monsieur speaks French as well as most French­men, I strongly advise him to pass himself off as one while in the streets these days, for the English are become far from popular."

  "Why so?" Roger enquired.

  " 'Tis on account of the rumours of war that are in everyone's mouth. I do not know the rights of it. Some say that England is arming to attack Spain hoping that we shall feel obliged to go to the assistance of our old ally, which would then give the English a good excuse for seizing our colonies while we are in our present weak state. Others that it is a plot hatched between our Court and the Spaniards, to make war the excuse for marching a Spanish army into France, and with it depriving the people of their liberties. As a result of all this talk, both Englishmen and Spaniards are now regarded here with much suspicion, and liable to become the object of rough usage by the mob."

  Roger thanked him, assured him that there was not an iota of truth in the story that Britain desired a war with France, then returned to his bed to make up some more of the sleep he had lost. When he awoke on the Friday morning he was feeling considerably less sore, mentally refreshed and in good heart to tackle the weighty matter upon which he had come to Paris; so he dug a sober suit out of the trunk he kept at La Belle Etoile, and as soon as he was dressed hired a hackney-coach to take him out to Passy.

  Mr. Pitt's strictures upon the irreligious Bishop were one of the few matters upon which Roger still disagreed with his master. Monsieur de Talleyrand-Perigord was, he knew, an extremely slippery customer but, nevertheless, he believed him to be fundamentally honest and a real friend to Britain. In any case it was now of the utmost importance to Roger that he should get reliable information on how the leaders of the National Assembly viewed the prospect of war, so he had no hesitation in resuming relations with his secret ally.

  When he arrived at the neat little house the Bishop was not yet up; but soon afterwards he came downstairs in a flowered silk dressing-gown and, limping into the sitting-room, made Roger welcome. A few minutes later the two of them were exchanging news over a breakfast of crisp new rolls and hot chocolate.

  They had not been talking for long before Roger turned the con­versation to the Anglo-Spanish dispute. As he had been travelling for over a fortnight he had had no authentic news of the latest develop­ments, so he opened the matter by enquiring what his host thought of the general situation.

  "I very much fear there will be war," replied de Perigord gravely. " 'Tis common knowledge that for six weeks past the most active preparations have been going forward in the dockyards of both Britain and Spain; and the attitude of both countries is highly belligerent. It seems that a belated Spanish reply to the first British note merely reiterated Spain's claim to sovereignty in the Pacific, and on its receipt early this month Mr. Pitt declared such pretensions totally inadmissible. My latest intelligence is that four days ago he asked Parliament to vote a million pounds for war supplies, and it was at once agreed. King Louis is using his best endeavours to mediate between the two disputants, but I doubt if that will have much effect when two such unbending peoples feel their honour touched upon."

  "King Louis is still in a position to exert influence in international affairs, then?" Roger asked with interest.

  "Most certainly. His powers in that sphere have been in no way curtailed; and if war breaks out it will be for him to say if France shall enter it."

  "Think you she will do so?"

  " 'Tis difficult to say." The Bishop broke one horn off a croissant and popped it into his mouth. "Our honour is definitely pledged to assist Spain in the event of hostilities; but the country is much divided on the issue, and if Spain acted precipitately that might be seized upon as an excuse by us to evade our liability."

  "It is my belief that for all her high tone Spain will not dare to fight unless she is certain of French backing," Roger remarked. "And it is with the object of doing all I can to prevent encouragement being given her that I am in Paris now."

  "Then you may rely on my doing all in my power to aid you," de Perigord replied quickly. "France is in no position to fight a war. Sedition has played havoc with our dockyards, our ships' crews are mutinous, the troops refuse to obey their officers, and our treasury is empty. War could only spell disaster."

  "I shall be most grateful for your help. But tell me: is your view that held generally?"

  "Widely but, unfortunately, not generally. In the Assembly the Extreme Left is against war, and although small it represents a con­siderable part of the nation; yet by no means its most influential part. The better type of people are more patriotic, although in this case
I think their patriotism misguided. They believe that France's ancient enemy is seeking to provoke a war in order that she may take advantage of our present weakness. In consequence, anti-British feeling is now very strong here; and, out of pride, the bulk of the educated classes would not hesitate to support a war policy rather than see France suffer the least humiliation."

  "What of the Court?"

  "The King, as usual, is vacillating. He sees the danger; hence his attempts to mediate and keep Spain and Britain from one another's throats, and thus eliminate all risk of our being drawn into the quarrel. On the other hand he is being hard pressed by the Extreme Right to give full support to Spain."

  "Why should the Right be so belligerent?"

  De Perigord gave Roger a wily smile. "They see in war the one hope left of restoring the monarchy to its ancient power. As I have just said, a great part of the nation, and all its most solid elements, are already spoiling for a fight. A patriotic war would naturally rally them round the throne. The Right argue that with France in danger discipline would at once be restored in the army and marine; and that with a war in progress it would require only a well-organized coup d’etat to replace the National Assembly with the old form of government." "Does not the Assembly see its danger?"

  "The Left does, but not the Centre; and the Right is now intriguing on these lines in hopes of putting an end to the present unhappy state of affairs."

  After a moment, Roger said thoughtfully: "Even if the power of the monarchy were restored in this way, it could not long exist without granting a Liberal Constitution; and knowing you secretly to be in favour of such a regime. I am somewhat puzzled to find you opposed to the only policy that offers some hope of it."

  The Bishop shook his head. "Nay. I have but one interest at heart: the future welfare of my country. I am convinced that we could not wage a victorious war, and that defeat would mean our final ruin. Therefore I will be no party to this suicidal gamble."