Later they supped with the gay Lady Hester, no other guests having been invited for that night owing to the big dinner party that had been given earlier in the day. During the meal Roger was greatly struck by the change that had taken place in his old master. By nature a shy, aloof patrician, he had become Prime Minister at the age of twenty-four and for nearly eighteen consecutive years given his whole mind to the well-being of his country. He had never married or had a mistress and under constant attack from his political enemies he had become ever more irritably abrupt in his manner, unbending and dictatorial.
But now he was relaxed and cheerful, responding wittily to Lady Hester’s banter and, Roger was amazed to learn, he even chaperoned her to local dances, staying up till all hours of the morning to bring her home.
When she had left them and they were sitting over their port this new human warmth of character he displayed emboldened Roger to ask him frankly why the government having fallen into such feeble hands, he did not return to politics and pull the country out of the mess it was in.
With a smile he replied, ‘For the past year many of my friends have been urging me to do that. But there are certain difficulties. If not in so many words, by implication I promised our friends in Ireland to put through the Catholic Emancipation Bill. But His Majesty would have none of it, and, behind my back, sent for Addington. Without my support he could not have formed a Ministry. Had I refused it the King would willy-nilly have had to accept the Opposition with Charles Fox, who is anathema to him, as his Prime Minister.
‘I was desperate tired and in half a mind to wash my hands of the whole business. Had His Majesty not been afflicted as he is, I would have. But he began again to suffer brief periods of insanity, and ’twas said to be my fault for holding him in a cleft stick and endeavouring to force him to agree to Catholic Emancipation against his conscience. In consequence I went to him, promised that I would not again raise the question of emancipation in his lifetime and that I would give Addington my support.
‘That I did to the best of my ability. Grenville, Dundas, Spencer, Wyndham. Cornwallis and Castlereagh in Ireland, all refused their help and resigned. But I persuaded Rose, my brother Chatham and others to enter the new Cabinet and myself spoke in its favour in the House. Having done so, how can I now retract and form a Cabal to unseat Addington?’
Roger nodded. ‘I appreciate your scruples, sir. But surely the welfare of the nation should be put before personal feelings. Had those fine brains you gathered about you—Dundas, Greville, Castlereagh and the rest—remained in office the country would not have fallen into quite so evil a pass. But I gather that most of them, as well as the Foxites, are now in opposition, although from a different angle, and the Cabinet, being filled with mediocrities incapable of rebutting their criticisms, staggers from side to side like a drunken man, so that the nation’s affairs are becoming chaotic. Should such a state of things continue we’ll stand no chance at all of checking Bonaparte’s ambitions. Still worse, we may be forced into making another peace, more disastrous than the last. Yet did you but take the helm again, with the patriotic fervour that now animates the nation we might still emerge from the war triumphant.’
Mr. Pitt shrugged, ‘Maybe you are right, Mr. Brook. My old friends Bishop Tomlin, Wilberforce and others all use the same arguments and urge it upon me as a duty. But to get the best results I’d have to take into my administration men of all parties—the Portland Whigs and perhaps even Charles Fox—and so form a Ministry of all the talents. That would need much delicate negotiation, and I’m not yet willing to undertake it. But we’ll see.’
After pausing a moment he went on, ‘In the meantime I believe that Britain can continue to hold her own. We are faced with only one danger, and that a great one. Bonaparte, I understand, is now building ships of war in every port he controls from Holland right down to Bordeaux. Should he in a year or two be able to muster a Fleet superior in strength to our Navy, then we shall indeed be undone. Should we lose control of the seas we will lose everything and be at his mercy. I pray you, when you return to France bear that in mind, and that the greatest service you can render your country in the months to come will be timely intelligence to our Admiralty about movements of the French squadrons, so that we may hope to defeat them piecemeal before they become too strong for us.’
Pushing back his chair, Mr. Pitt stood up and added, ‘And now, old friend, to bed. It has been good to talk with you again; but I have to set an example to my officers and be on parade with my men at six o’clock tomorrow morning.’
On the night of December 21st Roger was back in London but it was not until the afternoon of the 22nd that he received a brief letter from Mrs. Marsham. In it she said that some trouble in working the Manchester Ship Canal, in which Colonel Thursby held a big interest, had led to his leaving for the north two days previously, and that he had accepted an invitation from his partner in that venture, the Duke of Bridgwater, to spend Christmas with him. But she would be most happy to have Roger at Stillwaters and the children were greatly looking forward to seeing him.
Intent now on buying presents, on the 23rd Roger went to his bankers, Messrs. Hoare in the Strand, to draw some ready money. As he was coming down the steps from the entrance a dark, foreign-looking man, who appeared to be in his late twenties, raised a square-crowned hat from his head and accosted him.
‘Mr. McElfic,’ he said with a smile and a heavy German accent, ‘Some years it is since we haf met. But you recall me, yes? I am Nathan, the son of Maier Amshel of Frankfurt, although now we haf family name Rothschild.’
Roger’s mind instantly switched back to ’95. In the autumn of that year Mr. Pitt had sent him on a mission to the Rhine. After Robespierre’s death in the previous year the Directory had come to power and was hard put to it to suppress an upsurge of reactionary feeling. There had seemed a good hope that if the right Republican General could be suborned he might play the role of Monk, march his army on Paris and restore the monarchy.
General Pichegru had been selected as the most promising man to take this part. Roger had first gone to the Prince de Condé, who commanded the army of Royalist exiles then in Baden, and persuaded him, on behalf of his King, to sign a promise that if Pichegru put Louis XVIII on the throne he should be made a Duke and Constable of France, be given the Château of Chambord and become the second man in the kingdom. Roger had then gone to Pichegru, who had been inclined to accept this huge bribe but feared that on his army approaching Paris it would be infiltrated by old sans culottes who would cause it to mutiny and so wreck their plan. In consequence he had required that, before he committed himself, Roger should go to Paris and organise the pro-monarchist elements there to rise against the Directory simultaneously with his advance on the capital.
To that Roger had agreed, but one problem remained. Pichegru’s army was poised for a swift move to join up with that of Moreau, and once their armies were united the defeat of the Austrian army was inevitable. For Austria to be forced out of the war before the proposed coup d’état would have greatly weakened the Allies’ power to insist that the restored King of France should grant his people a democratic Constitution; so to gain time, Roger, having Pitt’s open draft on the British Treasury in his pocket, had offered Pichegru a bribe of a million francs in gold so to arrange matters that his army failed to make junction with Moreau’s. Pichegru had accepted, and it was the Jewish bankers in the Frankfurt ghetto at the sign of the Red Shield who, at short notice, had honoured the draft and provided this huge sum in gold.
Pichegru had kept his bargain and sent only two divisions into the attack, so it had been repulsed. It was in Paris that this great plan for a restoration had broken down. Shortly after Roger arrived there the reactionaries had made a premature rising. Barras had appointed the untried young General Bonaparte as Military Commandant of the City. Overnight he had sent Captain Murat galloping off to bring the guns up from the suburb of Sablons and, next day, quelled the revolt with his famous ‘whi
ff of grapeshot.’ By that the pro-monarchist fervour had been dissipated and the Directory again had the situation so firmly in hand that Pichegru dared not march his army on Paris. Later he had been accused of treachery and had fled to England.
While Roger was recalling all this the young Jew said, ‘You p’haps remember, sir, that at time we meet I tell you I believed there to be good future in England our financial deals to make. My honoured father in ‘98 say yes to my request, and gif me for to operate here sum of twenty thousand pounds. I settle first in Manchester. Soon my capital is turn into sixty thousand. Now I come very frequent to London. Presently I have own establishment here. A Rothschild do not forget those who aid to make a fortune for his house. Discounting the bill you give on British Treasury for a million francs make us profit very handsome. You wish loan at any time, Mr. McElfic sir, I am honoured to oblige. Hoare’s Bank here tell you address to write to me.’
Roger smiled at him, ‘Yes, of course, I remember you now; and I thank you for your offer. I am glad, too, that your ventures here have proved so successful. But I am surprised that you should have recognised me; for when we met before I had side whiskers and, but for a shaven chin, a beard.’
‘Your eyes, sir. So very blue, and the long lashes. I recognise at once.’
Suddenly an idea came to Roger and he asked, ‘General Pichegru. He was denounced by the Directory and escaped to England. Presumably he is still here. Do you happen to know where he dwells?’
The squat little Jew nodded, ‘Yes, sir. Some part of his money he invested with us. For him we get it out, and I his man of business am. He has lodging now at 22 Rupert Street.’
Roger thanked the dark, keen-eyed young man, shook hands with him and went his way, much pleased with the result of this chance encounter.
Next day, Christmas Eve, Roger went down to Stillwaters. Apart from the nursery quarters and a few of the smaller rooms he found the great house shut up, which sadly depressed him. His late wife’s aunt, Mrs Marsham, received him joyfully, and the children, to whom he had, after his two years’ absence, become almost a stranger, soon accepted him again as a half-forgotten friend who brought them intriguing presents and played jolly games with them.
But the memories of the many happy hours he had spent there with Georgina weighed heavily upon him. He could not get her out of his thoughts. Every feature of the place reminded him of one occasion or another when they had laughed and loved together. More than ever he regretted that she was not in England so that he was deprived of the chance of making his peace with her. Grimly, he forced himself to act the part of a jolly uncle with the children on Christmas and Boxing Days then, on the 27th, much relieved, and intent on his mission, he returned to London.
The more he had thought of the matter the more convinced he became that General Pichegru could prove the lead into the conspiracy that was brewing against Bonaparte. During the wars of the Revolution Pichegru had ranked with Dumouriez, Kellermann and Moreau as one of France’s most brilliant Generals. Therefore, to have had his career cut short; to be, although a patriot, unemployed and in exile he must be bitterly antagonistic to Napoleon. In ’95 he had been willing to gamble his high command for Royalist honours if he could bring about a Restoration. How much greater now was the inducement of the prospect of returning to France as a Duke and Commander in Chief of the Army as a reward for eliminating the Corsican upstart.
On the 28th Roger sent one of the footmen from Amesbury House to make discreet enquiries at No. 22 Rupert Street. From them he learned that Pichegru had gone to friends in the country before Christmas and was not expected back until after the New Year. For the next few days Roger controlled his impatience as well as he could, frequenting White’s, Almack’s and other clubs to pick up such information as might prove useful to him.
As far as the French exiles were concerned he drew a blank. The majority of the great nobles had foreseen the coming troubles and sent large sums abroad previous to ’89, then left France well before the Terror. Those who had settled in England had either long since been accepted into society and had no desire to return to France or, if stirred by ambition, had made their peace with Napoleon and had become welcome members of his Court. The lesser fry, desperate and nearly penniless, had by now surrendered their pretensions as aristocrats and had sunk to the level of bourgeoisie, becoming language teachers, dancing masters and even barbers; so they were no longer in a position to frequent expensive clubs.
On January 3rd, learning that General Pichegru had returned to his lodging, at two o’clock that afternoon Roger took up a position on the corner of Rupert Street. After an hour’s wait he recognised the tall figure that sallied forth from No. 22. The General walked only a hundred yards then turned into a chop house on the far corner. A few minutes later Roger followed, went in and saw to his satisfaction that Pichegru was seated alone in one of the high-backed booths made to accommodate four people. Making him a formal bow, Roger sat down on the opposite side of the table.
Having ordered a portion of steak and kidney pudding he looked across at the General and said in his perfect French, ‘Can I be mistaken? Surely Monsieur, you are General Pichegru?’
The General looked up from his plate, gave Roger a sharp glance and replied, ‘Indeed I am, Monsieur. But I cannot recall our having met before.’
I can,’ Roger said with a smile. ‘You were then commanding an army on the Rhine, and I arranged for you to receive a payment of one million francs in gold.’
‘Mon Dieu!’ the General exclaimed. ‘I recall you now, though at that time you had whiskers and a short curly beard.’
‘ ’Tis true,’ Roger agreed. ‘I favoured that fashion in those days. What a tragedy it was that the well-conceived plan we made together never came to fruition.’
‘Alas, alas!’ Pichegru sighed. ‘The accursed Corsican spiked our guns by putting down that premature pro-monarchist rising with such firmness. But for that, the state of things in Europe would be very different now.’
‘Indeed yes. There would be peace and you, mon Général, would be the right hand of the King of France. Still, fortune did not treat you too badly; assuming, that is, that you have not lost the million that we paid you.’
‘I still have a part of it that luckily I left with those honest Jews in Frankfurt; so I am at least better off than many of my poor friends, and do not have to labour at some dreary employment for a living. But that is no great consolation to a soldier who has been active all his life.’
Roger nodded, ‘I sympathise; for time must hang heavy on your hands. Let us hope, though, that another turn in the wheel of fortune may again open to you opportunities worthy of your talents. As long as Bonaparte rules the roost in France there’s little chance of that. But, like ourselves, he’s only mortal and did aught befall him the situation in France would change overnight.’
‘In that I agree. He has made himself as near as makes no difference a monarch, and the French people have ever been monarchists at heart. Were he removed from the scene no other General could replace him and the nation would demand the return of the King.’
‘So far he has been lucky in escaping assassination,’ Roger remarked quietly, ‘But he has many enemies and his luck may not hold. It needs only skilful planning and a few resolute men to put him out of the way.’
Pichegru frowned, ‘Greatly as I detest the man, as a soldier I am most strongly opposed to such methods. However, there are others. It might be possible to kidnap him and bring him as a prisoner to England. But to succeed in that would require an extensive and very costly organisation.’
‘Think you that really could be done?’ Roger hazarded, ‘If so it would restore peace to Europe, and for such a venture I doubt not that I could provide another million from the secret funds.’
For a moment the General remained silent, then he said, ‘When last we met I recall that you were acting as the personal emissary of Mr. Pitt. May I ask what is your position now?’
‘Mr. Pitt’s
retirement made no difference to my status,’ Roger lied blandly, ‘But our present Prime Minister leaves all such matters to my Lord Hawkesbury at the Foreign Office.’ Then, to draw Pichegru out, he added, ‘But for the past year my master has employed me mainly in affairs concerning Russia, so I am ill informed on what is passing in Royalist circles here in England.’
Even an astuter man than the simple soldier, having already received from Roger a huge bribe to assist in an attempt to restore the French monarchy, could not have been blamed for trusting him completely; and Pichegru replied at once:
‘We already have a plan for kidnapping Bonaparte, but lack of funds has so far prevented us from putting it into execution. Since you are prepared to aid us I would like you to come to the Cercle Français in Soho Square on Friday next at six o’clock. I and my friends who are concerned in this meet there every Friday, and a room in the club is set apart in which we pretend to play cards but actually hold our conferences.’
Hiding his elation, Roger willingly agreed, and over the remainder of their meal they talked of general matters. As they were about to part Pichegru said, ‘You must pardon me, Monsieur, but I have forgotten your name.’
Roger smiled, ‘When we met I was using that of Robert McElfic and in this affair ’twill serve as well as any other.’
On Friday 6th, he duly went to the Cercle Français and found it had previously been a large private mansion. On enquiring for General Pichegru he was taken up a broad staircase and into the principal salon on the first floor at the back of the house, in which a score or more of Frenchmen were either reading news-sheets or talking. Pichegru greeted him warmly and after some minutes of casual conversation, led him back across the landing to a lofty but much smaller room on one side of the staircase with a single tall window looking out on to the street.
The Wanton Princess Page 35
