“I do. But first I must thank Skye who, being Sir Arthur’s illegitimate daughter, would have had every reason to stay out of the limelight but who has had the strength of character to go public. Today cannot be easy for her.”
There was a smattering of applause in the audience and Gayle waited until it had died down before continuing. “I have this young lady to thank for introducing me to the most exciting of possibilities. Much work has to be done to elaborate on the evidence she and her friends have unearthed but what they have shown me, and my lawyers, is of historical importance.”
“What the fuck’s going on?” the producer yelled into Jilly’s earpiece. “Get back to the fucking script.” Jilly ignored him.
“DNA evidence has persuaded me of the truth of what Skye has said. Sir Arthur is descended from a soldier. As am I. To the same very successful soldier. It appears that Sir Arthur and I are related, albeit remotely. We are distant cousins, sharing a three times great-grandfather.”
“What the fuck?” the producer shouted at no one in particular. “Who the fuck thinks this crap is interesting? What the fuck are you up to, Jilly?”
“So what?” Sir Arthur seemed relieved that that was all that was going to be said. “Most people are related to most people if you go back far enough. Especially if there is any hint of belonging to the better half of society.”
“I’m pleased you will admit me to that elite.” Gayle smiled. “But it is who that common ancestor was that is so very interesting.”
“Yes?” There was a slight furrowing of his eyebrows. Sir Arthur was not sure where this was discussion was going.
“You had two very interesting ancestors of that generation. The first, and the one I don’t share, was a remarkable man. Born plain Jim Mercer in the American colonies he spent his youth fighting against the English before joining the loyal forces and eventually came to Europe where he worked as intelligence agent for one Arthur Wesley, later, of course, the Duke of Wellington. This Jim Mercer became a very superior spy. He was a very clever and extremely interesting man who took the name of Bernard Lacey.”
“So fucking what?” demanded the producer rhetorically. He rather liked the idea of the American spy in Sir Arthur’s family tree but he felt the discussion was straying too far from the anticipated and rehearsed course.
“We’re getting a lot of traffic,” the production assistant who was monitoring Twitter answered. “Someone’s started using the tag #laceytheliar and it seems to be sort of trending.”
“Bernard Lacey, as I said, was a very superior spy who devised a plan that changed the world,” Gayle continued.
“What are you getting at? You are talking absolute nonsense!” Sir Arthur felt out of control, as did the producer in his soundproof box.
Gayle Shepherd continued as if there had been no interruption. “We know all the details of his life and his work because he left a series of diaries.”
“Diaries?” Jilly prompted.
“These diaries were hidden many years ago but have recently been discovered through a mixture of good fortune and clever deduction. We have the diaries, Sir Arthur. I have seen them. I have read the transcripts. Jim Mercer, or Bernard Lacey as he was known once he came to England, was the First Baronet of Oakridge.”
Jilly glanced down at her notes. “And what did these diaries reveal?”
“Apart from describing the thrilling story of his life they show that Sir Bernard held a secret that is of international importance.”
“Utter nonsense.”
“As I said Sir Arthur, we have the diaries. They can be investigated as much as you like but they are absolutely authentic.”
“That was what was said about the Hitler Diaries.”
“These have been authenticated by the very best scholars.”
“So were those attributed to Hitler.”
“I think you will find that these will bear any investigation you choose to name.”
“We shall see.”
In the control room the producer was less than happy. “Where’s this all going? The stupid girl’s lost all the momentum. Who the fuck cares about Sir fucking Bernard fucking Lacey’s fucking diaries? What the fuck has this got to do with anything?”
“It’s still trending,” his assistant said, not taking her eyes from her phone “There are hundreds of guesses at who this soldier-ruler ancestor is though some are more sensible than others.”
Sir Arthur had had enough. “What has this all to do with anything? My great-great-great-grandfather was a spy? So what?”
Jilly could see Carl waiting to join the discussion and since all she was hearing in her earpiece was a cacophony of indistinguishable voices swearing at her she decided to introduce him.
“I think this might be a good time to introduce my final guest, Professor Carl Witherby. He is an academic whose television and radio programmes have educated and entertained many of our viewers, the professor is a scholar whose experience and knowledge in his field, the Napoleonic era, cannot be equalled.”
Carl joined the group around the table, accompanied by the applause of the studio audience.
“Thank you for joining us, Professor. I, and those of us who know what you are going to say, appreciate how difficult this interview is going to be for you.”
“What the fuck is all this about? Who the fuck got hold of that old man?” the producer shouted. He was mystified. They had rehearsed three strands for the interview; the expenses scandal, the illegitimate daughter and Sir Arthur’s less-than-totally-English family background. No one had told him anything about diaries from two hundred years ago. “What the fuck’s all this about?” he shouted into the mic that transmitted to Jilly’s earpiece.
“There’s lots of chatter on Twitter about Carl Witherby. A lot of people seem to think he was dead but by the look of it he’s still got a pretty big fan base out there. #carlhistoryman seems to be quite a popular tag,” his assistant ventured tentatively.
“OK, OK, let it run but that girl had better have a fucking good explanation when it’s all over.”
Jilly smiled at Carl, who looked as if he was going to enjoy the limelight, even if he was about to contradict much of what he had taught and written about through all his career.
“Thank you. Yes, today is possibly the most difficult day of my life. I have to accept that much of what I have always assumed to be true is not. The last few months have not been easy, because what I have learned has gone against all accepted historical thought and against everything I have ever believed to be historical truth.”
“You are putting your reputation on the line?”
“I am.”
“And what is this knowledge that is going to cause such a seismic shift in our understanding of the world?”
“I’m running out of fucking patience Jilly.” The producer twirled his finger by his ear as if to indicate that he thought Jilly was mad. “Get to the fucking point,” he yelled into the mic.
“Yes?” Jilly prompted, ignoring what she was hearing in her earpiece.
“There has been so much interest surrounding the hundredth anniversary of events in the First World War that somehow much of what happened two hundred years ago is being overlooked. Two hundred years ago today Napoleon Bonaparte was an Emperor restored in Paris preparing to do battle again with much of Europe. In less than two months he would meet Wellington and von Blücher on the field of battle near Waterloo.”
“Yes, Professor, Waterloo is part of our history. We have a railway station named after it after all,” Sir Arthur interrupted, wanting the camera on him for the first time in a few minutes.
“Our history has taught us that Wellington defeated Napoleon at Waterloo and, within a few weeks of that event, the Emperor gave himself up to the English and was exiled to St Helena, an isolated island in the South Atlantic, where he died six years later,” Carl spoke calmly, aware that most of his audience would know their history.
“Yes? What is the problem? Wellington de
feated Napoleon and the worst dictator in European history before Hitler was exiled and then he died.” Sir Arthur looked with an expression of exasperation at the camera.
“Generations of children have been taught about how the French were defeated and the European continent was freed from tyranny.” Carl continued with his explanation as if Sir Arthur had said nothing.
“Yes. Had he not been defeated Bonaparte would have ruled the continent as a despot, imposing his laws and his will. You might say that is exactly what the European Union, its Parliament, the Council and Courts are doing to us today.”
Carl again ignored Sir Arthur’s intervention. “Throughout the past two hundred years the English have called upon their collective institutional memory of the crushing of Napoleon for support in times of dire peril. His defeat has been iconic in the psyche of this country.”
“Yes. Are you saying we didn’t win at Waterloo? That the Duke of Wellington was defeated after all?” Sir Arthur tried to ridicule the professor. “I’ve heard some left-wing historical rubbish in my time but that really is too much.”
“I am not saying that at all, though it was not Wellington alone who won. The forces of the Seventh Coalition won the battle, but only just. Wellington and von Blücher, leading a coalition of forces from several European countries, did win and Napoleon Bonaparte did surrender himself to the English. What I am saying is that he was not exiled to St Helena.”
The members of the studio audience were men and women of all ages and from a variety of backgrounds but they had been carefully selected for their interest in politics and in history. There had been silence as Professor Witherby talked because every individual in the audience was fascinated by what he had to say. The cameras panned across the rows of faces, rapt in concentration at what they were witnessing. Even the producer wanted to know what was going to happen next as his assistant tweeted @TruthonSunday #laceytheliar #carlhistoryman history to be turned on its head????
Carl continued using the voice that was familiar to many of his audience and which had always engendered trust and confidence. “We have found evidence that the Duke of Wellington himself connived in a plot whereby Napoleon was not to be humiliated by imprisonment and exile. Instead he was to be used. The English secret service, and no one should make the mistake of imagining that that was an invention of the last century, turned him. That is a modern phrase but the process was the same as is described in so much modern spy fiction. In return for his freedom Napoleon Bonaparte gave Wellington’s spymaster information which helped to change the course of European history. Indeed that was his purpose. Napoleon Bonaparte was not exiled to St Helena. He lived in England until his death, not in 1821, but in 1853.”
Jilly waited for the murmur made by the studio audience died down. “Professor, you are saying that the history we have been taught is all false?”
“Those who knew will have had their reasons for withholding the truth, but yes, that is what I am saying.”
“I suppose it was in no one’s interests to publicise the truth,” Gayle suggested quietly.
“Napoleon Bonaparte is quoted as saying that History is a set of lies agreed upon by the victors. By victors he meant those who would gain most from those lies and I cannot believe that he was wrong. Many people at the time believed that Napoleon, although deposed, had been a legitimate Head of State and was therefore entitled to parole and due respect but it suited the government and the military at the time for the public to see him humiliated. One man saw a way by which both outcomes were possible.
“Really,” Sir Arthur said just loudly enough for his disdainful tone to be picked up by his mic.
“Yes, Sir Arthur, really. It was your ancestor, Sir Bernard Lacey, Wellington’s spymaster, who recognised that Napoleon had unimaginably useful information to pass on and it was he who persuaded Wellington and Prime Minister Liverpool to purchase that information by giving the Emperor a kind of freedom.”
“If, as you are saying, Napoleon didn’t go to St Helena, who did?” Jilly asked, noticing that the studio audience was engrossed in the story as, she hoped and prayed, were her million or so viewers. At least the screaming in her earpiece had stopped.
“He was swapped for a double,” Gayle answered, indicating to all that not only did she know the story but that she believed it.
“A double?”
Gayle continued her explanation, as she and Carl had planned. “A Cornishman by the name of Ennor Jolliffe had been groomed for nearly two decades for the role. It was a far easier proposition in the days before every individual had a camera phone and every famous person was subjected to high-definition television close-ups.”
“And how do you explain the many volumes published by people, his secretary, his doctor, who were close to Napoleon on St Helena?”
“Self-interest for the most part. Many of the exiled entourage had not known Bonaparte well and would not have recognised him. Those who did know the man loved him and were so loyal that they would never betray him. You mention Bonaparte’s secretary and doctor. These were men who had been with him for many years and were content to be exiled as long as their master escaped that fate.”
Jilly again looked down at the notes Fergal had sent her. “But weren’t there visitors to St Helena, members of London society, who knew the real Bonaparte from their visits to Elba?”
“Indeed there were. You are referring to members of London society such as Lady Holland and her set, but they were all Bonapartists and would never betray the man they adored.
Watch @TruthonSunday for info on #laceytheliar and 200yrs of government cover-up #setoflies tweeted the assistant producer. Moments later #setoflies began to trend.
Carl Witherby continued, “We have incontrovertible evidence that Napoleon Bonaparte was not exiled to St Helena. Instead he lived out his life as an English country gentleman in The Lodge, on Isle of Wight, the house Sir Arthur has described as his family home.
“This is all utter and irrelevant nonsense. And why are you wasting this interview telling me all this? We should be talking about the issues. What has this fairy tale to do with me?”
Sir Arthur stared with barely disguised disdain at the professor who answered with a smile. “We will see that it has everything to do with you.”
“Just because some ancestor of mine is supposed to have been involved in some vast conspiracy? This story is farcical fiction.”
“So, Professor Witherby, you say that Bonaparte lived the life of a country gentleman on the Isle of Wight?” Jilly asked, bringing the interview back to the narrative laid out by Fergal.
“Indeed he did. It was the precursor of a thousand modern-day witness protection programmes. The name he was given was Claude Olivierre, he had the cover of a man from Jersey in the Channel Islands. It was very cleverly organised.”
“And what was Sir Bernard Lacey’s role in this plan?” Jilly asked gently.
“Sir Bernard had, as I’ve already mentioned, planned the whole thing. Napoleon Bonaparte was his asset and he was his handler, that is the only way I can describe their relationship in the beginning.”
“In the beginning?”
“The two men lived on adjoining estates, they married sisters and over the years they became friends and their families became closely connected.”
“Families?” Jilly prompted.
“The man who was known as Claude Olivierre had a daughter he named Josephine, and Sir Bernard had twin sons.”
Groups in the studio audience whispered to each other, pointing towards the family tree Fergal had just given to the controllers and which was being hastily displayed on the monitors and on screens around the country.
“In time Sir Bernard’s younger son married Josephine and the families were linked.”
There were more gasps from the audience as more generations of the Lacey family tree were displayed.
“So you are saying that Sir Arthur is a direct descendent of Napoleon Bonaparte?” Jilly confirmed what everyo
ne could see.
“I am saying that, yes.”
The cameras focussed on Sir Arthur who could find nothing to say and was simply shaking his head from side to side.
Gayle Shepherd was smiling as she re-entered what she was realising was an interview that would do her career no harm at all. “Earlier, you will remember Sir Arthur, I mentioned we had a common ancestor. That ‘soldier who ruled’ was Napoleon Bonaparte.”
“You are also related to Napoleon?” Jilly asked.
“Yes. It appears an ancestor of mine, Lady Frances Frensham, spent some months with Napoleon on Elba. She had a son by him and that son was my great-great-grandfather.”
Sir Arthur had now had more than enough. He stood up. Unable to look at Gayle Shepherd, Skye or the professor he glared at Jilly as he removed his microphone and walked from the set with what dignity he could muster.
Jilly looked up to the control box and saw the producer draw his finger across his throat, indicating it was time for her to draw the programme to a conclusion.
“Well, it appears our time is up. I must thank all my guests and you, viewers and members of the studio audience. I’m certain there is much more on this story to come and I apologise to you all, I know I’m leaving you with more questions than answers. Good afternoon.”
She thought she had done a good job and even if this was to be her last programme with the station or even the last of her career, she felt she had done the story, and herself, justice. She was preparing to face the inevitable arguments when she realised everyone in the control box was applauding. She was unaware that the station’s managers were already fielding requests from news stations around the world for the rights to show excerpts from the interview, and were refusing demands for the contact details of ‘that Lacey girl’.
As the credits rolled the studio audience’s applause was long, loud and genuine.
Everyone knew that Sir Arthur’s political career was over.
A Set of Lies Page 44
