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Authors: Dennis Wheatley

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‘No, Roger! No! Years before that we had decided that to marry would be to court disaster.'

He shrugged. ‘Anyway, I missed my chance and was forced to flee the country. While I was travelling in India and with General Bonaparte in Italy, another eighteen months sped by. This Christmas brought me the sweetest present I could ever wish for—your lips on mine the night
after my return. Yet here we are a bare six weeks later and I must once more tear myself away from you.'

Roger leaned forward and went on earnestly, ‘Think on it, my love. It is now fourteen years since the sweet culmination of our boy-and-girl romance. We vowed then that, though we'd consider ourselves free to make love where we listed, each of us would ever hold first place in the other's heart. We have kept that vow, yet in all these years we have lived scarce ten months together.'

Georgina slowly shook her head. ‘Dear Roger, I am most sensible of it and have oft felt a great yearning for you when you have been in distant lands. Yet your own statement is the answer to your argument. Had we married, with yourself abroad for years at a stretch it could have been no more than a mockery of the state. Made as I am, unless I'd taken lovers during your long absences I'd have burst a blood vessel, and had you not done likewise you would have returned to me as dried up as a sack of flour. It would have meant either that or spending our brief reunions reproaching one another for discovered infidelities.'

‘Nay. Matters need never have come to such a sorry pass as you envisage. Had we faced up to our situation after Humphrey's death and married then, I would have changed my whole life so as to remain with you.'

‘You changed it when you married Amanda, but for how long did you remain content with domestic felicity? In less than two years you succumbed to the urge to go adventuring again. How can it possibly profit us to con over all these “might-have-beens”? Above all at such a time as this, when within a few hours you will again be on your way to France?'

‘ 'Tis just that which causes me to do so,' he replied promptly, ‘Your having volunteered to brave the winter journey and accompany me here for the sake of spending a last night or two with me, then tempests having delayed my departure for ten days, have given us a new experience of one another.'

‘You refer to our having for the first time in our lives been for so long completely alone?'

‘I do. With my father absent in his Command at Harwich, and the cousin who keeps house for him staying with friends
in London, we might have been marooned on a desert island except for the servants providing us with every comfort. We have eaten, slept and loved, or sat engrossed in conversation by a roaring fire, just as we listed, without a single duty to perform or any social obligation. And for my part I have never been nearer to dwelling in heaven.'

‘In that you speak for me, too,' she smiled. ‘Time has ceased to be our master, and each night when I have fallen asleep in your arms I have known the sweetest contentment. I would that living with you in this world apart could have gone on for ever.'

‘Then, sweet, have I not made my case: that as soon as it is possible we should marry?'

Georgina sadly shook her head. ‘Nay, my beloved. We must not allow ourselves to be led astray by these halcyon days that we have snatched from life's normal round. As I've already said, to be faced during long separations with the alternative of maintaining a dreary chastity or deceiving one another would be fatal to our love.'

‘There is yet another alternative. I am too far committed to my present mission to ask to be excused of it; but when I return to England I could resign from Mr. Pitt's service.'

‘Can you say, within a month or so, when you expect your return to be?' Georgina asked.

He shook his head. ‘Alas, no. Unfortunately there is nothing definite about my mission. It is simply that having established myself as
persona grata
with the men who now rule France, and particularly with Barras and General Bonaparte, I should return there, keep Mr. Pitt informed, as far as possible, of their intentions and do what I can to influence their policies in favour of British interests.'

‘Then you may have to remain abroad for a year, or perhaps two, as you did during the Revolution.'

‘I trust not, yet I cannot altogether rule out such a possibility. You will recall that when recounting my more recent activities I told you that in Italy General Bonaparte made me one of his A.D.Cs with the rank of Colonel. While I have been in England he has believed me to be on sick leave at my little chateau in the South of France. My orders were to report back to him at the end of January, and I would have
done so had not storms delayed my passage. When I do rejoin his Staff I must go where he goes; but the odds are that even he does not yet know how the Directory will employ him, now that Austria has signed a peace with France.'

‘Since our nation alone now remains in arms against the French, surely they must strike at us. You have said yourself on more than one occasion that they may attempt an invasion in the spring, and that if so this little Corsican fire-eater will be the man to lead it.'

‘You may take it as certain that the Directory favours such a move; and Bonaparte himself becomes like a man crazed with excitement whenever anyone raises in his mind the vision of the glory that would be his if he succeeded in marching an Army into London. At least, that was his dearest ambition until I secretly stacked the cards that led to his being given the command of the Army of Italy; and it may well be that now he is once more dreaming of himself as the conqueror of England.' Giving a twisted smile, Roger added, ‘If so I'll be back quite soon, but in a foreign uniform and making it my first business to ensure your not being raped by the brutal and licentious invaders.'

Georgina snorted, ‘ 'Tis more likely that you'll find yourself back in the sea with a British pitchfork stuck in your bottom.'

‘I've good hopes of escaping such a fate,' he laughed, ‘for it's my opinion that the French will never get ashore at all. The attempt would be at best a desperate gamble, and Bonaparte has an uncanny way of assessing odds correctly. I think it more than probable that he will decide against staking his whole future on such a hazardous undertaking.'

‘What, then, are the alternatives?'

‘He has several times mentioned to me a grandiose project for leading an expedition to conquer the glamorous East and make himself another Alexander.'

‘Should he do so I asume, from what you have said, that you would perforce accompany him?'

‘No, no!' Roger laughed. ‘That will not do. I've no mind to spend the rest of my life fighting Saracens and savages. Were I faced with such a grim and profitless prospect I'd
think up some way to relieve myself smoothly of my aide-de-campship, Personally, though, I think it unlikely that the Directory would agree to Bonaparte taking a large army overseas for his own aggrandisement. Since France is still bankrupt, despite the immense treasure Bonaparte looted out of Italy for her, I count it probable that the minds of the Directors run on renewing the war across the Rhine, or sending him to invade smaller States that have remained neutral, to act again as a robber for France. But all this is speculation. It would, therefore, be unfair in me to disguise from you the possibility that new developments in France might prevent my return this year, or even next.'

For a long moment Georgina was silent, then she said, ‘I am very conscious that I owe it to my little Charles to marry again, so that he should have a father to bring him up. At any time I might meet a suitable
parti
. Not one who could ever take your place in my heart, but a home-loving man of probity and charm for whom I could feel a genuine affection. Since you may be away for so long, I must hold myself free against such an eventuality. You too might meet some charming woman with, whom you may feel tempted to share your future. If so, as in the past, you must also consider yourself free to marry again; for I can hold out little hope that I will ever alter my opinion that this unique love of ours can be preserved only by our never remaining together long enough to weary of one another. All I can promise is that should we both be still unwed when you do return to England I'll give your proposal serious consideration.'

Roger refilled their glasses with port and said, ‘In fairness I can ask no more, and I pray that my return may be neither in a French uniform nor delayed beyond the summer. Let's drink to that.'

She raised her glass and they both drank. As she set it down, she sighed, ‘I would to God I could be certain that you will return at all. Each time you leave me to set out upon these desperate ventures my stomach contracts with the horrid fear that I'll never see you more. You've been monstrous lucky, Roger; but every day you spend among our enemies is tempting Fate anew. Hardly a week passes but I think of you and am harrowed by the thought that you may
make some slip, be caught out and denounced as an English spy.'

He shrugged. ‘My sweet Georgina, you need have little fear of that. I have spent so long in France that my identity as a Frenchman is established there beyond all question. Anyone who challenged it would be laughed at for a fool.'

‘How you have managed that I have never fully understood.'

‘The fact that I lived there for four years in my youth formed a sound basis for the deception. To account for my foreign accent, before I rid myself of it, I gave out that my father was of German stock and my mother English, but that I was born in the French city of Strasbourg. I further muddied the waters of my origin by giving out that both my parents died when I was at a tender age; so I was sent to my English aunt, here in Lymington, and brought up by her. My story continues that I hated England, so as soon as I was old enough ran away back to my native France. In that way I became known there as the Chevalier de Breuc.'

‘But later, Roger, you became the trusted henchman of Danton, Robespierre and other sanguinary terrorists. Such men have since been guillotined, or at least proscribed. How did you succeed in escaping a similar fate?'

‘In that, I am one of many. Tallien, who directed the Red Terror in Bordeaux; Fréron, who was responsible for the massacres in Marseilles; and numerous others whose crimes cry to heaven have proved such subtle politicians that they rode out the storm, succeeded in whitewashing themselves and still lord it in Paris. There are, too, scores of
ci-devant
nobles who, until the Terror made things too hot for them, had, for one reason or another, found it expedient to collaborate with the Revolutionaries. Some were thrown into prison, others went into hiding. After the fall of Robespierre they all emerged with specious stories of how from the beginning they had worked in secret against the Revolution; so it has become the height of bad form to enquire closely of anyone about their doings previous to '94.

‘Thus on my return from Martinique, in the spring of '96, I needed only to imply that I, too, had been playing a double game, to be welcomed into the most fashionable salons
which have sprung up in the new Paris. Such terrorists as survived know that I had a hand in bringing about Robespierre's fall, so they naturally now accept it that I fooled them when they knew me as a
sans-culotte
, and was all the time a young nobleman disguised. The aristocrats whose acquaintance I made earlier in the galleries of Versailles look on me as one of themselves—a clever enough schemer and liar to have saved my neck throughout the Revolution.'

‘I should find it most repellent to have to move in such a dubious society.'

‘But for a few exceptions they are indeed a despicable crew. At times it makes my gorge rise to learn that some woman of noble birth has become the mistress of a man well known to be a thief and a murderer, or that a Marquis is giving his daughter in marriage to some gutter-bred ex-terrorist who has climbed to influence and wealth over the bodies of that nobleman's relatives. Yet it is in the fact that the Revolution has brought to the surface a scum composed of the worst of both worlds that my security lies. To them, there is nothing the least surprising that a youth educated abroad by rich relatives should have returned to become a fervent patriot, have risen to the rank of Citizen Representative, have conspired against Robespierre and now be an aide-de-camp to General Bonaparte.'

‘There are gaps in your career in France, of which you have made no mention: one of two years while you were first married to Amanda, another while you were Governor of Martinique and yet another while you were in India. If seriously questioned, surely you would have difficulty in accounting for them; and there must be at least a few Frenchmen who have seen you when you have been wearing your true colours, in England or elsewhere, as Admiral Brook's son, and would recognise you again.'

‘No.' Roger shook his head. ‘My absences from Paris are all accounted for. And to guard against such chance recognition as you suggest I long ago invented two mythical cousins, both of whom strongly resemble me. One is myself, the English Admiral's son, Roger Brook; the other, on my mother's side, is a bearded fellow named Robert MacElfic. Should any Frenchman think that he has seen me where I
should not have been I'd vow it was one or other of these cousins they saw and mistook him for myself.'

‘Lud! One must admire you for a cunning devil.' Georgina laughed. ‘Can there then be no single man in all France who knows you for an Englishman and can give chapter and verse to prove it?'

Roger's face became a little grave. ‘There are two. Joseph Fouché, the terrorist who was responsible for mowing down with cannon the Liberal bourgeoisie of Lyons, is one. But when we last came into conflict he was without money or influence and on the point of quitting Paris as a result of an Order of Banishment forbidding him to reside within twenty leagues of the capital. Fortunately he is not among those terrorists who succeeded in whitewashing themselves; so from fear of the reactionaries seeking to be avenged on him he is most probably still living quietly in some remote country village.'

BOOK: The Sultan's Daughter
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