Now tears started to his eyes, and he stammered, ‘You you really mean that … that despite all I know of French affairs you did not mean even to put me in prison, but … but allow me to leave the country? That is indeed generous and I thank you from my heart.’
Talleyrand was now smiling, ‘Can you suppose that if I had ever had any other intention I would have been quite so big a fool as to remain here alone with such a resourceful and desperate fellow as Mr. Roger Brook?’
For the first time in years Roger found himself blushing, ‘Well,’ he laughed. ‘I do confess that I had it in mind to hit you over the head, then make with all speed for the coast.’
‘A very natural reaction, cher ami. But I could not resist this temptation to enjoy your discomfiture at my having found you out. I have, of course, given that very serious consideration and it is my opinion that, even if I allowed you to remain here as a free citizen, the ill you could do to France would, except in some quite exceptional circumstance which is unlikely to arise, be outweighed by your usefulness to me here. You and I have always been at one in believing that no permanent peace and prosperity can be maintained in Europe unless our two great countries sink their differences. You have considerable influence with many important people here, and a quick and subtle mind; so for my secret endeavours to bring about a lasting settlement I could have no better lieutenant than yourself.’
After taking snuff again, the Minister added, ‘But now it is my intention to use you as my secret emissary to England.’
Roger stiffened slightly, ‘I thought I had made it clear that …’
Talleyrand made an impatient gesture, ‘You did. And when giving you that passport I made no conditions. Do you wish it you may proceed freely to England and never return. But I have hopes that you will agree to give me your help in a matter that will in no way conflict with your conscience. A while back you said that you would never become a party to an assassination. May I take it that implies that you would prevent any attempt at assassination if you could?’
‘Certainly. However much one may hate an enemy, to kill him in fair fight is one thing, but to take him off his guard and stab him in the back is quite another.’
‘I agree; yet across the Channel there is a plot to assassinate Napoleon.’
‘You imply that the English are engaged in such a plot. Greatly as they loathe him, I do not believe it.’
‘No. I do not believe that the King’s Ministers would lend themselves to such despicable measures, but I have evidence that several of their subordinates are encouraging the designs of the embittered Royalist refugees. For one, a Mr. Hammond who is the Permanent Under Secretary at the Foreign Office. And there are others of whom I will tell you. One, Hyde de Neuville is the Royalist leader and it has come to my knowledge that he and his right-hand man, Méhée de la Touche, have been several times recently in Paris spying out the land. These extremists believe that if only they could put Napoleon out of the way, rather than be plunged again into civil strife, the French people would prefer to receive back the Comte de Provence as King Louis XVIII. But these out-at-elbows plotters are a cowardly lot and, instead of risking their own skins, they plan to use Georges Cadoudal, the Breton peasant leader.’
‘You surprise me,’ Roger put in, ‘Cadoudal is a brave fellow, and by his skilful resistance has won the admiration even of his enemies. I would not have thought him the type of man to agree to become an assassin.’
‘Nor I. But one must remember that he is a fanatic. In August last he landed secretly at Biville, near Dieppe, and proceeded to Munich, where he conferred with Méhée de la Touche and Mr. Drake, the British agent. Do you perchance know Drake?
‘No,’ Roger shook his head, ‘I have heard of but never met him. I owe my long immunity to the fact that, as far as circumstances permitted, I have held no communication with any other British agent.’
‘How wise of you,’ Talleyrand smiled. ‘However, there it is. I have particulars of the conversations they held. It was agreed that some time during this winter Cadoudal should enter France again with a band of resolute adherents and make an attempt to eliminate Napoleon. You know as well as I do that, as things stand, the people of France would never accept the restoration of a Bourbon to the throne. It follows that the death of Napoleon could lead only to anarchy and a renewal of the Terror. While I believe Drake to be acting on his own initiative, and that the British Government plays no part in this, they must have knowledge of the centres in which Royalist plots are bred. You have the entrée to highly placed persons in England so could find out where those centres are and, perhaps, penetrate them. Should you succeed in that you could then return here and furnish me with particulars of the plotters’ intentions. Then I would be able to take due precautions. Let us be clear. I do not ask your aid in anything that would be harmful to England; only your help in preventing an assassination which would further embitter the relations between our countries. Now; what say you?’
‘I agree,’ Roger replied without hesitation. ‘We have many times worked together for what we believed to be good ends. Should Napoleon be assassinated it would be attributed to the English, and since he has become the idol of the French people, there would then be no hope of seeing peace in our life-time. This vile conspiracy must be thwarted at all costs, and I’ll spare no effort to aid you in nipping it in the bud.’
‘Well said!’ Talleyrand stood up and clasped his hand, ‘But the matter has become urgent; so I will tell Napoleon that I have temporarily deprived him of you for a special service in which his own safety is concerned, in order that you can leave France without delay.’
The following day Roger set out for England.
21
The Double Agent
Roger had no need of the passport with which Talleyrand had provided him and did not proceed via Holland into Germany; neither, in view of the war situation, did he go to Calais. Instead he took the road to Dieppe and, in a fishing village not far from it, sought out a smuggler who on two previous occasions had put him across the Channel. There, to his distress, he learned that his old friend had, a few months earlier, been killed in an affray with the English. Having made the man’s widow a present of a sum of money, he rode the thirty-five miles down the coast to Fécamp and there he proved luckier. Another smuggler, to whom the widow had sent him, intended to sail two days later and agreed to run him over; although he had to pay twice the sum that he had when he had last crossed two years earlier.
This was owing to the threat of invasion that now menaced England. While Napoleon had been mustering his vast army the British had been far from idle. Lord Keith commanded a squadron in the North Sea covering the Dutch ports and Lord Cornwallis another blockading Brest, while the narrows between Kent and the Pas de Calais swarmed with sloops and gunboats, the latter largely manned by the Sea Fencibles, as volunteers for local sea services were called.
In consequence, as Roger had assumed, smuggling from either side across the narrows had become such a hazardous venture that it had almost ceased. But the demand in Britain for French wines and cognac was as great as ever, while the French, despite Napoleon’s interdicts, were still eager to secure English cloth and Nottingham lace; so the illicit traffic continued but had to be by longer sea passages to the west, and even on the Dorset and Devonshire coasts the risk of capture had increased considerably.
Early in the morning of December 12th, the wind being favourable, they set sail; but, instead of running out into the open sea, they spent the whole day crossing the Bay of the Seine until, late at night, they reached the tip of the Cherbourg peninsula. There they lay to until the following afternoon and only then again set sail on a northerly course across the Channel.
Towards evening the weather worsened and it was Roger’s misfortune that when about half way across they were hit by a sou’wester. Stripped of her canvas the little ship bucked most horribly and he was dreadfully sick. When morning came she was many miles off her course and that day went in
getting her back to a position from which she could make her run in; so it was not until an hour before dawn on the 15th that, still pale and ill, he was put ashore a few miles west of Christchurch at the foot of a deserted gorse-covered chine which, many years later, was to form part of Bournemouth.
Carrying his valise he trudged unhappily to Christchurch; but the walk did him good and, as he had not eaten for the past two days, restored his appetite. After breakfasting at the best inn, feeling more his own man, he hired a postchaise and drove through Lymington to Walhampton Park with the intention of visiting his father before proceeding to London.
There he was received by Sir William Burrard, with whom his father had gone to live in the spring of 1800. After greeting him cordially but a little awkwardly the Baronet broke it to him that his father had died the previous winter. Roger was not greatly surprised as, after his retirement from the Navy, the Admiral’s health had deteriorated and when Roger had last seen him he had been far from well. Neither did he feel any great sense of loss, as during his youth fear of his father had brought him near to hating him and it was not until later years, during which they had seen one another only at long intervals, that they had become good friends.
Sir William pressed him to stay as long as he wished at Walhampton and Roger gladly accepted for a few nights; then, tired out from his journey, went straight up to bed. That night over supper his host gave him particulars of his father and told him that Mr. Drummond to whom the Admiral had let Grove Place was still occupying it pending some arrangement with the Admiral’s heir; although the three-year tenancy had come to an end in the previous March.
Next day Roger rode into Lymington, spent a few minutes standing silently at the foot of his parents’ grave, then went to see the family solicitor, a Mr. Blatch. As he expected, his father had left everything to him except for an annuity to his faithful servant Jim Button and a few personal possessions to old friends. The solicitor estimated the inheritance to amount to something over forty thousand pounds, mainly acquired in prize money from ships taken by the Admiral while serving in the Navy. As an executor and trustee he had invested it in the Funds, and Roger was content to leave it there for the time being. With the carefulness inherited from his Scottish mother he had, during the past fifteen years, put by the greater part of the money he had made while occupying several lucrative posts and, invested with the shrewd advice of Droopy Ned, his own small fortune amounted to a considerably greater sum; so he now reckoned himself to be worth well over a hundred thousand pounds.
That evening he called upon the Drummonds, to find that his old home had not only been well looked after but in many respects improved, as the banker had spent a considerable amount of money on it. The young couple now had a girl of two and a boy of nine months and Mrs. Drummond was again ‘expecting’. They were very happy in the house and wished to stay on there; so Roger willingly agreed to renew their tenancy for a further three years. They then pressed him to stay on to supper and he enjoyed a merry meal with them.
Jim Button, he learned, had gone to live with a niece and her husband in their cottage at Pennington; so the next afternoon Roger rode over there. Jim was now in his middle sixties but still hale and hearty. While Roger talked to him of old times the buxom niece bustled about to provide a bumper English tea, the like of which their guest had not enjoyed for years. But she had four young children and the cottage seemed to Roger too small for such a family to live in in comfort. So instead of doubling Jim’s annuity as he had intended, Roger told him that he meant to give him a thousand pounds out of which he could buy a much larger place and still have a good nest egg over. In those days to such people a sum of that kind was a fortune and, full to the gills with home-made bread, jam and cake, he rode away with the blessings they called down on him still ringing in his ears.
On the 18th, having been assured that he would always be a welcome guest at Walhampton, Roger said good-bye to the hospitable Sir William and took coach to London. When he reached Amesbury House he learned that Droopy Ned was in residence but had left an hour before and was not expected back until the early hours of the following morning, as he had driven down to Sion House at Isleworth, the residence of the Duke and Duchess of Northumberland who were giving a ball there that night. Droopy’s father, the Earl, as was his custom all through the shooting season, was at his seat, Normanrood in Wiltshire, and the only person staying in the house was an elderly cousin whom Roger had always found a bore. So, having been installed in his usual room and freshened himself up after his journey, he decided to sup out at his Glub.
As he had an hour or more to spare and the evening, although cold, was fine, he went out to stretch his legs in a stroll round the heart of fashionable London. Piccadilly was brightly lit as the shops then stayed open late, the roadway was packed with coaches, carriages and horsemen, the pavements crowded with a motley throng of homeward bound pedestrians, hucksters and ladies of the town dressed in tawdry finery. Roger was always polite when rebuffing these young painted harpies but, finding himself accosted at every twenty paces or so when he paused to look into a shop window, he tired of saying, ‘No, thank you, m’dear,’ or ‘Not tonight, my pretty,’ and turned out of Piccadilly into Berkeley Street.
On his left lay Devonshire House and as he walked at a good pace alongside the tall wall behind which lay the Duke’s big garden he suddenly realised that he was heading towards Berkeley Square. Immediately his thoughts turned to Georgina. Although her betrayal of him had caused him more bitterness than any other event in his whole life, time had at least healed the wound sufficiently for him to dwell now and then on some of the many happy hours they had spent together.
While riding from Paris to Dieppe he had even hoped that when she learned that he was again in England she might seek a meeting with a view to expressing her contrition for her abominable act, and he had decided that should she do so he would readily forgive her. In any case he meant to get in touch with her to arrange to see his daughter and, if she was agreeable, her boy Charles. But that was a thing apart from healing the breach between them and he felt that after having put the Sheriff’s officers on to him the first move must come from her.
Yet now, as he was approaching Berkeley Square, he realised more fully than he had ever done before what an appalling gap their quarrel had left in his life. Although from the age of fifteen he had lived for much the greater part of the time abroad, whenever he had come back to England Georgina had always been there to give him a tempestuous welcome. They had had no single secret of any kind from one another, talked and laughed the hours away and; regarding themselves as two beings bound by a tie that transcended all accepted standards of conduct, made passionate love regardless of marriage vows or any other commitment.
It had long been clear to him that John Beefy had represented something entirely different in her life from her two previous husbands and the many gallants with whom she had had passing affairs; so he had come to condone the fury and distress she had displayed on the assumption that he had killed Beefy in a fit of drunken jealousy. But what he did not understand was her refusal to believe his word that it had been an accident and, in any case, in view of their very special relationship, to forgive him. Even more puzzling was the fact that, although she had appeared as a witness when he had been tried for murder and had saved him from hanging she should, four months later, have still felt so bitterly towards him that she had deliberately betrayed him.
But all that had happened well over a year before, and surely by now she too would at times think with regret of the shattered love that had meant so much to them. Why not, he thought to himself, be generous and make the first approach? At this time of year it was as good as certain that Georgina would be in London and, at this hour, unless she too had gone down to the ball at Sion House, be dressing either to go out or to receive guests.
Roger’s heart leapt at the thought. They had only to come face to face for all to be forgiven and forgotten. Whatever her commitments
for that night, she would ignore them, pleading a sudden attack of the vapours. They would sup as of old before a roaring fire in her boudoir and later, fortified by good wine and drunk with the joy of their reunion, lie clasped in one another’s arms between the sheets until morning.
When he reached the St. Ermins’ mansion, his new-found elation subsided as though a bucket of icy water had been sloshed into his face. The house was dark and shuttered, so evidently Georgina was not in London.
Recovering slightly at the thought that, now he had decided to call bygones bygones, he could go down to Stillwaters next day, he rang the front door bell. After waiting for a few minutes he rang again then, as it still was not answered, he grabbed the bell pull and jerked it up and down until at last an elderly servitor, mumbling apologies for his delay, opened to him.
To his enquiry the man replied, ‘Nay, sir; Her Ladyship is not at Stillwaters. She sailed last month for the West Indies to arrange for the disposal of her late husband’s estates there. But the children are at Stillwaters in the care of Mrs. Marsham.’
Bitterly disappointed, Roger thanked him and turned away. Gone now was all prospect of restoring his erstwhile happy relationship with Georgina, anyhow for many months to come; for within a few weeks Talleyrand would expect him back in France with a report on all he could pick up about the plot to assassinate Napoleon, and it was impossible even to make a guess at when he would again be able to come to England.
His spirits now very low, he walked back to White’s. There he found several old acquaintances, supped with four of them, drank fairly heavily then, although he was not normally a gambler, sat for four hours playing faro. Morosely, as he walked across to Arlington Street at half past two in the morning, he recalled the saying ‘lucky at cards, unlucky in love’, and the fact that he had come away from the club with three hundred and fifteen golden guineas in his breeches’ pocket did not console him.
The Wanton Princess Page 33
