The Wanton Princess

by Dennis Wheatley

  Roger had never tired of looking at her; and there she sat, as beautiful as Venus descended from Olympus, splendid in her nakedness, her body perfection, her lovely face alight with love. There could be only one answer to her challenge. Taking a step forward he seized her in his arms, glued his mouth to hers for a long moment, then gave a laugh;

  ‘It will be all or nothing, but in my life I’ve gambled oft enough for a far smaller reward.’

  That night, no longer hypnotised by her presence he thought the matter over in cooler blood. To secure Napoleon’s consent would be to take the biggest fence he had ever attempted in his life. Passionately in love with Pauline as he was, he asked himself if he really wanted her as his wife. She was light-minded and irresponsible and he was well aware that their present desperate craving for one another could not last indefinitely. Even so, it seemed that it could be a long time before they tired of each other physically. And the advantages to himself of such a marriage could be immense. Having never been trained as a professional soldier, he thought it unlikely that Napoleon would make him a General of Division, as he had Leclerc. Neither did he wish it. But such a marriage could well lead to his being made an Ambassador, or the Pro-Consul of some State subservient to France, and in such a post he would not only wield great power but be in a position to influence events in favour of his own country.

  For years past he had endeavoured to persuade Georgina to marry him, but his hopes in that direction had, alas, been finally shattered by her betrayal of him. So why should he not make a bid to become the husband of the sweet-natured and dazzling Pauline, the most beautiful woman in France?

  Carefully he thought over the strategy he must adopt. He felt sure that to approach Napoleon direct could only result in a peremptory refusal. The fortress must be mined before he attacked it.

  Josephine had always been his good friend. Although Napoleon was not faithful to her she retained great influence over him. At times he still slept with her and quite frequently she read him to sleep. The violent hostility of his family to her had failed to undermine her position, because as First Lady of France she did him great credit. The fact that she had never been presented at the Court of Versailles did not detract from her ability to assume the role of a great lady in a way that none of the Bonaparte women could ever have done. Her taste was admirable, the new décor of the Palaces in which they held court had been designed by her and was faultless, the clothes she wore were beyond reproach and, with great charm and tact, she had gained for her husband the goodwill of ex-Revolutionaries, returned émigrés and foreign Ambassadors alike.

  Having decided that in securing Josephine’s aid lay his best hope of succeeding in this hazardous but tremendous coup the following afternoon Roger secured a private audience with her. For a while they talked of times past and the extraordinary rise to supreme power that Napoleon had achieved in so short a time. Then Roger divulged his personal problem.

  Josephine reacted as he had hoped she would. As she considered the matter, he could almost see her mind working. She had pushed her own daughter Hortense, against the girl’s will, into marrying Louis Bonaparte solely with the object of detaching him from the hostile camp. Of all the Bonaparte sisters Pauline was the bitterest enemy because, in spite of her dazzling beauty, at great receptions Josephine’s savoir faire always showed up the Corsican girl’s gaucheries and put her in the second place. But Roger had long been a devoted friend. Had it not been for him her contemplated marriage to Napoleon would never have taken place. It was, too, owing to his advice to her children that they should appeal to Napoleon’s affection for them that he had refrained from casting her off when, on his return from Egypt, he had received proof of her infidelity to him. If, therefore, Roger married Pauline, he would become another friend in the enemy camp and could be counted on to induce his wife to adopt a less hostile attitude.

  After a few minutes’ thought, Josephine nodded gravely and, although she did not disguise her feeling that it would be a far from easy task to persuade Napoleon to agree to the match, she promised to do her best.

  Two days later Roger was summoned to the presence. Napoleon was not only a stickler for personal cleanliness; he so enjoyed his morning bath that quite often he lay in it for two hours or more, meanwhile dictating to his secretary or transacting business. This happened to be such an occasion. Méneval brought Roger into the bathroom, poured a can of hot water into the bath to keep up the temperature, then left them together.

  Napoleon, having sat up for a moment, without the least embarrassment lay down again at full length in the big marble bath. Looking down on him Roger observed that his once spare body had filled out and, unless he took much more exercise, might soon become fat.

  ‘You wished to see me, First Consul,’ he asked, in a voice that betrayed no emotion. But he knew that in the next few minutes his whole future would be decided. It was possible that he would become the brother-in-law of the most powerful man in Europe, with a wife that every man would envy him. On the other hand, Napoleon might place him under temporary arrest as a precaution against his marrying Pauline in secret then, on some trumped-up charge, get him out of the way for good by shipping him off to a fever-ridden French penal settlement, such as Devil’s Island.

  18

  Sold Down the River

  To Roger’s relief Napoleon said quite quietly, ‘Madame Bonaparte tells me that you wish to marry Madame Leclerc.’

  ‘That is so, First Consul,’ Roger replied. Then, having given a slight cough he added, ‘You—er—may recall that early this year circumstances provided Madame Leclerc and myself with an exceptional opportunity to get to know one another, and.…’

  ‘Circumstances!’ chuckled Napoleon. ‘What a way to put it. You mean that Pauline, having tired of playing the widow, the two of you planned to go off on this jaunt together. As for “getting to know one another,” I’d take a wager that by now she knows the exact number of hairs on your chest.’

  Anxious to encourage the mood of good humour that his master was in, Roger smiled and said quickly, ‘She might; for it happens that I have very few.’ Then, realising the admission he had made, he added hurriedly, ‘That is, if she has a good memory. We picnicked once, outside Aix I think it was, and on a lovely day. That I might enjoy the sun she permitted me to take off my shirt.’

  ‘How gracious of her. And is that all you take off when she visits you in your room at La Belle Etoile?’

  As Roger’s jaw dropped, Napoleon laughed, ‘My dear Breuc, for what do you think I pay my police if not to know what goes on in the city? But you have conducted your affaire with admirable discretion, so I let you be. Had she not been whoring with you it would have been with some other muscular young gallant.’

  Roger reddened, ‘First Consul, I protest.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool, man. As I told you before, I know my sister better than you will ever do. And though my word is now law to some forty million people, I cannot stop her from jumping into bed with any man she fancies. But her marrying again is quite another thing. How do you propose to keep her?’

  ‘I have my pay and, owing to your generosity in allowing it to continue during my long absences on account of ill health and other matters, I have spent little while away from Paris; so I have quite a tidy sum put by.’

  ‘Bah! It would not keep Pauline in the nightshifts that she is always taking off. She has no sense of money whatever, and is the most extravagant woman in France with only one exception—my wife. Mon Dieu, you should see the bills I am called on to pay for Madame Bonaparte. Dressmakers, silk merchants, modistes, jewellers form a queue here every morning, and her ante-chamber is piled as high as a haystack with their wares. She can resist buying nothing that they show her; and as she cannot remember from day to day what she has bought, they fail to deliver half the goods then charge her double the price they have asked on the rest. I’ve found a way, though, to deal with these rogues. When, every few months, she finds herself in difficulties and co
mes to me for a million francs or more, I take her bills, send these vultures a quarter of the amount they claim and scrawl “In full settlement” across them. But Madame Josephine is the First Lady of half Europe and may yet be of the whole. Madame Leclerc is but a widow with a pension, and when she marries again her pension will cease.’

  Roger smiled, Mon Général, in spite of your known generosity to all the members of your family, I had not counted on its continuing. Neither do I ask that you should dower her; only that you should appoint me to a post in which I can earn enough money to make her happy.’

  ‘I did that for poor Leclerc, and see what became of him. Rochambeau now commands in San Domingo. Would you like me to send you out to relieve him?’

  In spite of the money that might be made as Captain-General there, it was a far from pleasant prospect; but Roger replied, ‘I am ready to go wherever you may decide, provided only that Pauline is willing to accompany me.’

  Napoleon sat up and rang a handbell, upon which his valet appeared with another can of hot water. When he had poured it into the bath Napoleon lay back and shook his head, ‘No. Pauline’s courage while she was in danger there warmed my heart; but ‘twould not be right to expose her to it again, and I’ve no wish that either of you should die of yellow fever. Besides, although you wear a Colonel’s uniform you are no soldier in the true sense.’

  Roger shrugged, ‘You must admit that I have never failed you yet in any task you have set me.’

  ‘That I admit.’

  ‘Then why not appoint me Ambassador to some country, or make me your Pro-Consul in one of the territories under your rule?’

  ‘There you certainly have an idea. But where? Yes, I have it. You speak English like a native and know the habits of those barbarous people well. When I have conquered their fog-ridden country I could make you Pro-Consul there.’

  It was Roger’s belief that Napoleon would never succeed in conquering Britain but, if Fate decreed that he should, whoever he appointed Pro-Consul there would have enormous powers for good or ill. Hateful as was the thought of ruling one’s fellow countrymen in the name of a foreign power, Roger realised that in such a situation he could greatly alleviate the sufferings of the people and might, by skilful planning, even succeed in restoring their freedom.

  As the proferred appointment would be a princely one, he said at once, ‘Mon General, I am overwhelmed by your generosity. In such a situation I could give of my very best in serving you. But we have not conquered England yet. In the meantime, what are your wishes with regard to myself?’

  ‘Madame Leclerc is only recently a widow. It would be most indecorous for her to marry again before her year of mourning is up, and that will not be until November.’

  ‘That I appreciate,’ Roger replied. ‘I assume then for the next few months you will desire me to continue as your liaison officer with Berthier on the invasion project?’

  Napoleon considered for a moment, then he said, ‘No. If you are to act as Pro-Consul you will have command of all the forces that I may decide to leave in Britain to garrison the island and keep down its population. For that you should have knowledge of many matters of which you have so far had no experience—the strategic placing of units, the allocation of quarters, the distribution of supplies and rations, the state of health of your men and so on. You should, therefore, qualify for at least the rank of General of division. I think I will send you to Davoust. He is an extremely conscientious and competent General. With your quick mind, you will learn under him in a comparatively short time how to become a real soldier. Go now, and send Méneval in to me, so that I can dictate a letter informing Davoust of my wishes concerning you.’

  In a state of high elation Roger bowed himself out of the steamy bathroom. Contrary to his expectations his master had not roared with rage and put him under arrest. Instead he had raised no objection to his A.D.C. marrying his beautiful sister. True, it meant a four-month separation, which Pauline would take hard, but that was a small price to pay for such a great reward.

  Presently Méneval emerged from the bathroom, sat down at a desk outside, penned the letter from the notes he had taken, sanded and sealed it, then handed it to Roger with a formal bow. ‘The First Consul’s orders are that you are to horse at once and deliver this personally into the hand of General Davoust,’

  Roger returned the bow and marched off down the corridor. He thought it a little inconsiderate of Napoleon not to give him at least twenty-four hours in which to have a last meeting with Pauline and tell her the splendid news; but he was used to his master considering a matter, deciding upon it, issuing his orders, expecting them to be obeyed immediately and dismissing the matter from his mind.

  Back at La Belle Etoile, while his servant was packing his things and their horses were being saddled, he wrote Pauline a note. Being by long habit cautious, just in case his letter fell into the wrong hands, he did not like to put in writing that, although they must keep it secret, they were now virtually engaged, then go into rhapsodies about what the future held for them. Instead he wrote:

  ‘I have seen him. All has gone beyond belief well. But I must qualify myself to hold a post that will give me a big income. At the least I’ll be a General of Division by November. This means that I must spend the next four months with the Army. You will know what a terrible wrench it is for me to leave Paris; but think what this means on my return. Think, too, of Bordeaux, Pau, Nîmes and a little place by the sea. During my absence such scenes and the future will occupy all my thoughts. R.’

  Having left it with Maïtre Blanchard to be given to Aimée when she made her daily call to pick up any note from Roger asking for a rendezvous with her mistress, he had a quick meal and set out, followed by his servant leading a third horse carrying the baggage.

  Few people knew better than Roger the dispositions of the Army of the Coast of the Ocean, as it was now called. Its cantonments were spread over a vast area stretching from Antwerp right down to Le Havre. Flanders, Artois and Picardy swarmed with troops, while huge reserve formations were assembled at Utrecht, Ghent, St. Omer, Montreuil, Compiègne and St. Malo. At Boulogne alone there were fifty thousand men under the command of Soult, at Etaples thirty thousand under Ney and at Bruges another thirty thousand under Davoust; so it was to the ancient Flemish town, with its old gabled houses, canals and grassy ramparts, that Roger rode in the summer sunshine.

  General Davoust, to whom he reported, was a strange character. A Burgundian aristocrat by birth, he had been a junior lieutenant in the Royal Champagne Regiment at the outbreak of the Revolution. Unsociable by nature and holding Republican views, he had led a mutiny, been cashiered for it and imprisoned for six weeks. The triumph of the Third Estate had soon led to his reinstatement as an officer and his rising to the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel; but later he had again been deprived of his commission, this time by the Jacobins on account of his aristocratic birth. Then, under the Directory, he had emerged once more, as a Brigadier in Moreau’s Army of the Rhine.

  In ’98 he had been sent to Egypt. As a ‘Moreau man’ and a staunch Republican, he had regarded Bonaparte with dislike and distrust, and consorted with the little clique of senior officers who were always criticising their General-in-Chief. Then had come the Battle of Aboukir. There Davoust had been given a reserve formation, of which Bonaparte made no use during the battle. Afterwards Davoust had demanded an interview with the object of making a bitter complaint that he and his men had been slighted. The interview was a long one and no one ever learned what had been said between the two. But Davoust had emerged from it a changed man.

  Previously he had been uncouth in manner and slovenly in his dress; from that day he became a stickler for courtesy and smartness. Henceforth he took Bonaparte as his model in everything, gave him absolute devotion and studied his methods of waging war with such assiduity that, having a fine brain, he later became the ablest of all Napoleon’s Marshals.

  But he was a dour, hard man, with few friends and many enem
ies—particularly Bernadotte, whom he hated for his intrigues against Napoleon. He loved no one except his wife, to whom he showed the most tender feelings, and he had no interests outside his duties. He took great care of his men, but was the harshest disciplinarian of all the Generals, being especially severe with his senior officers, all of whom loathed him. Roger knew him only slightly, but enough of his reputation to wish himself posted elsewhere.

  Having read Napoleon’s letter, Davoust gave Roger a cold smile and said, ‘The First Consul has ordered me to instil into you the rudiments of soldiering. These are usually acquired by having served for a period in the ranks; but he does not desire that I should temporarily deprive you of your commission. He feels that the desired end can be achieved by your joining my Endurance Course for junior officers who show promise. You will appreciate that for you to do so with your present rank would be most unsuitable; so while you are under my command you will revert to that of Lieutenant and, of course, you will not use your A.D.C.’s sash.’

  With every word the General uttered Roger’s heart sank further into his boots. Going pale with rage, he burst out:

  ‘General, I am confident that the First Consul never …’

  ‘Silence!’ snapped Davoust. ‘And if I do not have a good report of you, Lieutenant, you will have cause to rue it. You may go.’

  Roger had seen summary discipline exercised in the French Army too often to become defiant. Almost choking with fury, he saluted, turned sharply on his heel and went.

  An adjutant took charge of him. Half an hour later the Headquarters tailor had changed his Colonel’s rank badges for those of a Lieutenant and he had been deprived of his servant, who was put on general fatigues. He was then conducted across the town to a big building that had formerly been a school. There he was handed over to a short, gimlet-eyed Major of Infantry, named Gaudin, who was the Chief Instructor of the Course.