The Irish Witch

'Most unfortunately, the generals of their regular forces have proved both incompetent and unreliable; so that on numerous occasions during battles in which they took part with us, they failed to carry out the tasks allotted them by the Duke, with the result that we were deprived of what should have been complete victory. Last autumn the Cortes decreed that its generals should no longer act independently, but come under the Duke, as Generalis­simo. So far, only the Spanish army in Galicia has given us full co-operation, but in this year's campaign, we are hoping that others will also prove of value.

'However, the fact remains that the Spanish regular and irregular forces have compelled the enemy to dis­tribute his men in several armies, each of which is sep­arated from the others by great ranges of mountains, so that none of them is readily able to come to another's assistance.

'The hatred displayed by the Spaniards and French for each other is almost unbelievable. Neither take any pris­oners and butchers the wounded without mercy. When the French take a town, they massacre everyone they find in it and burn it to the ground. When the Spaniards cap­ture a convoy or small body of troops, they torture them to death, often nailing them to doors and roasting or skin­ning them alive.

'Only on the east coast have the French succeeded in pacifying the country and this because, alone among the Marshals, Suchet decreed a policy of conciliation, spared the towns he took and even allowed their own Mayors to continue in authority. Yet his sixty thousand men are as severely harassed as are those in other parts of the country. Spanish forces constantly attack them. They are always defeated by Suchet’s troops, but fade away into the mountains, only to reappear after a week or so and again attack.

'Bonaparte's eldest brother, Joseph, whom he made King of Spain, theoretically commands all the French in the Peninsula, but I am told has little say in directing operations. He is said to be an honest, easy-going, good-natured fellow who takes his sovereignty seriously, and does his best to protect the interests of his Spanish subjects. But the row he has to hoe must be a hard one. He is, in fact, no more than a nouveau riche bourgeois, and the Spanish aristocracy who reluctantly form his Court are the most tradition-bound and stiff-necked in the world. Moreover, poor Joseph is no general, and the Marshals hold him in contempt. It is also our good fortune that the Marshals are intensely jealous of one another and, even when in a position to do so, frequently refuse to come to one another's aid.

'Massena was replaced by the young and energetic Mar­shal Marmont. For a while he gave our army considerable trouble, but his own conceit led to his downfall. Last July the Duke, with a force of some forty thousand men, had fallen back on Salamanca. Marmont was fol­lowing him up with about the same number and, only two days’ march behind, King Joseph was coming to the Marshal's support with a further fifteen thousand men. But, rather than wait for the King and have to play Num­ber Two to him, Marmont wanted all the credit for a victory, so impetuously attacked us. The Duke gave him a tremendous trouncing, he was severely wounded by a can­non-ball and, but for the ability of General Clausel, who took over, the whole of Marmont’s army would have been destroyed.’

^‘It was from the time of this battle that the tide of war in the Peninsula really began to turn in our favour. King Joseph beat a retreat as quickly as he could to Valencia, and took refuge with the powerful army under Suchet. This opened the way for the Duke to capture Madrid and delivered both Leon and the Castiles from enemy occupa­tion.

'As the only possible hope of regaining his capital the King had to call on Marshal Soult, who for three years had been holding down the south with another great army and reigning in Seville like an independent sovereign. His march toward Valencia raised the siege of Cadiz, freeing the Anglo-Spanish-Portuguese force that has held out there for so long, and gave the Cortes there undisputed power over the whole of southern Spain.

'Soult is one of the ablest of the Marshals, and his join­ing up with Suchet at Valencia gave King Joseph an army of ninety thousand men. In addition, the remains of the French army from Portugal had joined with other forces in the north, giving General Clausel another army of some forty thousand in the neighbourhood of Burgos. Against this one hundred and thirty thousand and many thousands more French troops garrisoning Spanish cities, the Duke could bring only sixty thousand; so, although by his opera­tions he had liberated all Portugal and a good half of Spain, he wisely decided to give up Madrid, for while Suchet remained in Valencia Soult was advancing on the capital with one hundred thousand men. The retreat con­tinued until mid-November, by which time the Duke had fallen back on Ciudad Rodrigo, and the French, con­stantly harassed by Spanish irregulars, were so exhausted that they could press on no further..

'However, this set-back was of no long duration. Shortly after Christmas they learned here of the appalling dis­aster that had befallen Bonaparte in Russia. It is now con­firmed that he left behind him, to die in the snow, no fewer than half a million men. This is greatly to our benefit, as he has withdrawn from Spain twenty-five thousand of the most seasoned officers and men to reform his Imperial Guard, several able Generals and, last but not least, our most dangerous adversary, Marshal Soult.

'This still leaves some two hundred thousand French in Spain, but they have been much disheartened by losing so many of their veteran officers and N.C.O.s, while re­inforcements during the winter have brought our army up to seventy-five thousand, the highest number the Duke has ever had at his disposal. Moreover, the greater part of the French army in eastern Spain is now entirely occu­pied in endeavouring to keep open their communications with France, which are seriously threatened by thousands of irregulars operating from the mountains of the Asturias and Navarre, under the Spanish General Mina. So we - now have opposed to us only King Joseph, with Marshal Jourdan as his adviser—an ageing General of the Repub­lican wars. We are, therefore, in great heart regarding our prospects in the coming campaign.

'Reverting to myself. After five nights with the hospit­able Stuarts, I was ordered to join a convoy and, with my man Briggs, took the coast road north. For many miles beyond the Lines of Torres Vedras the country is in a sad condition, since before retiring behind the lines the Duke secured the agreement of the Portuguese to lay bare the countryside, in order to deny the French sustenance and shelter. All livestock was removed, farms and barns emptied of their contents and left, roofless, the people of the towns were brought into Lisbon and the peasants took to the mountains. The abandoned land is now being brought under cultivation again, but many vineyards are still thigh-high in weeds and brambles, making one highly conscious of the loss and distress inflicted on the hapless poorer sort by the wars of the mighty.

'By way of Caldas, Alcobacca, Leiria and Pombal we reached the considerable town of Coimbra. From there we turned inland through the mountains, then by way of Guardaz and Pinzio crossed the frontier to Ciudad Rod-rigo. As the crow flies, the latter is no more than two hun­dred miles from Lisbon, but the winding road through the mountains adds half as much again to the distance to be covered.

'The scenery along the coast road was most picturesque, particularly as the many varieties of trees were beginning to show their young Spring green, and in the clear air of the mountains breath-taking panoramas opened up at every turn of the way. Before the war the tracks must have been impassable for transport other than by mule, but our engineers have done much to widen them and, in the worst places, lessen the gradient; so it took the convoy no more than a fortnight to reach its destination.

'To do so was a considerable relief to me for, the effects of war apart, Portugal is in the main a desolate and pov­erty-stricken country. At such miserable inns in which, now and then, I spent a night, there were no beds, but legions of bugs infesting the walls of the rooms, no fresh meat but goat, and little other food but goat's cheese and some bread, washed down with a resinous wine that made one gasp. Fortunately, the Stuarts had warned me what to expect, so I took with me a good supply of hard tack to lessen the monotony of the army ration; although that, I will say, was good and ample, for the Duke has ever held it a first principle that his troops should never lack for food, and they love him for it.

'On my arrival at headquarters, my Lord Duke received me very graciously and promised to find me a post suit­able to my rank—I do not imply my rank as an officer for, as you know, nothing higher than a Lieutenantcy could initially be purchased for me, although as an officer of the Household Brigade I carry the seniority of a Captain when with other units of the Army—but as an Earl.

'A few days later it emerged in conversation that, having lived on the Rhine with dear Mama when she was mar­ried to that brute, von Haugwitz, I speak German fluently. Thereupon His Grace promptly told me I was just the man to fill the role of an extra A.D.C. and Liaison Officer with the Duke of Brunswick.

'The Duchy of Brunswick now forms part of West­phalia, which Bonaparte created as a Kingdom for his youngest brother, Jerome. The late Duke, a Prussian commander of distinction, was killed at the Battle of Auerstadt in 1806 and his son, Duke Frederick William, upon whose staff I now am, nurses a most bitter hatred against the French for having deprived him of his dukedom. He is a charming and most courageous man. In 1809, he led a revolt in an endeavour to free Brunswick but, owing to the strength of the French garrison, it failed. Undismayed, the Duke and the troops who had risen in support of him retired into Bohemia; then they carried out a most remark­able enterprise—no less than fighting their way right across Germany until they reached the North Sea. British warships took them off and conveyed them to England, where the King gave them the name of his "German Legion" and, at their leader's request, sent them to serve with our army against the French in the Peninsula.

'So you see I am now well settled and eagerly antici­pating the opening of the new campaign next month. Being a liaison officer I need spend only part of my time with the Germans, and at the Duke's headquarters I now have a number of congenial companions, with several of whom I had been acquainted in London, and most of them senior to me by only a few years.

'An officer of the 47th Foot who has to proceed to London in order to unravel certain complicated matters with the Paymaster's Department will convey this to you. By the same hand I am despatching a missive to my be­loved mother, and have endeavoured to divide my news between you; so each of you must read the other's letter.

'Owing to Boney's enormous losses in Russia, one can hardly doubt that the back of his main army is broken; and, now that the Prussians have united with the Russians against him, it seems there is a good chance that by sum­mer this war of a life-time will, at last, be over. My Lord Duke is in hopes that we will drive the French back over the Pyrenees before they are finally defeated by the Allies in Germany. Be that as it may, when the news does reach

London that the French have been forced to surrender, I bid you, my dear love, to lose not one moment in setting about the preparation of your trousseau; for on my return I'll brook no delay in putting an end to our six years' engagement and making you, sweet Susan, the bride I have so long dreamed of.

'Your ever devoted and adoring Charles.’

On reading those last few lines, Jemima's mouth fell open, her dark eyes started from her head and, trembling with anger, she had to throw the letter from her to prevent herself from tearing it to pieces.

The mentions in it of 'Uncle Roger' had seemed strange, as Charles had never used that term to her on the very few occasions he had spoken of his mother's great friend, Mr. Roger Brook. But, in every other way, the letter was one that Charles might have written to her and its opening had thrilled her with the belief that he was much more deeply in love with her than he had led her to suppose. Only the very end had revealed the horrid truth. He had written three letters at one sitting and, by mistake, put a friendly one for her in the packet addressed to Susan and his mother.

At one blow, all her hopes for the future had been shat­tered. How utterly wrong she and Maureen Luggala had been in their belief that the mutual affection displayed by Charles and Susan when together was due only to their having been brought up as brother and sister. It was now clear beyond all doubt that, ever since they had been old enough to feel attraction to the opposite sex, they had been in love and had planned to marry in due course. The fact that, during the past year or two, both of them had car­ried on flirtations with others meant nothing. Her face red with renewed anger, Jemima visualised them telling each other about their affairs and laughing together over the conquests they had made.

Snatching up the letter, Jemima jerked open her door, flounced across the landing and, without knocking, erup­ted into Lady Luggala's room. The older woman was seated at her dressing table in a peignoir, smothering her face with grease while her yawning maid braided her hair for the night.

Imperiously Jemima snapped at the girl, 'Get out! I wish to talk to Her Ladyship.'

Maureen Luggala had found Jemima difficult enough to handle before she had discovered that she was a cuckoo in the Luggala nest. Since then Jemima had learned that her real mother supplied the funds for the Luggala men­age, and that the woman she still called 'mother' in public was no more than a puppet who received her orders from the Irish witch. Headstrong and imperious by nature, Jemima had lost no time in making use of her know­ledge. During the past few months she had dominated the household and the servants no longer dared question her orders.

After one scared glance at Jemima, the maid dropped the rope of half-plaited hair, gave a quick curtsey and, only too glad to get to bed, hurried from the room.

Being by now aware that in an angry exchange with Jemima, she would only get the worst of it, Maureen closed her thin hps firmly for a moment, then asked re­signedly, 'What brings you here at this hour?'

Still flushed with wrath, Jemima waved the letter. "Tis this! A letter from Charles. A pox on him! Would you - believe it; after playing up to me in no uncertain manner, he was all the time affianced to that bitch Susan, and plans to marry her the moment the war is over?'

Lady Luggala gave a gasp and her painted eyebrows shot up. ‘It cannot be true! The fondness he shows for her is no more than brotherly.'

'Brotherly, my arse!' exclaimed Jemima furiously. 'He addresses her as "most beautiful and adorable of the Sex." This letter was for her, but the fool put it in a cover addressed to me.'

'Oh, mercy me! Then we are indeed undone.'

'Undone I may be, but I'll have his guts for this.'

'Your disappointment is understandable. But you can hardly accuse him of having jilted you. According to the account you gave me, he did not even have you, let alone promise you marriage.'

'True. Yet he gave me good cause to believe myself a hot favourite in the St. Ermins' stakes. In no other girl did he show such interest. And I've not a doubt that all the time he was telling Susan that I was mad about him; while she, each time she saw me, must have pissed herself with secret laughter at my expense.'

"Tis possible your case is not so ill as you suppose. There's much in the old saying that "men were deceivers ever." Maybe he is playing a double game. He could have become affianced to Susan when they were only boy and girl, and he now regrets it, yet lacks the courage to break it off. There is at least a chance that, although he may not mention marriage in his letter to you, there will be evidence of great affection in it; so still hope for the future.'

For a moment Jemima was silent, then she said, 'That might be so. I must find out. By now Susan will have read the letter meant for me and guessed that I, or some other person, received hers through Charles's carelessness. To­morrow, or later today rather, I'll take her letter to her.'

'Some weeks have now elapsed since she and the Duchess left town. The odds are they're at Newmarket with the old, bed-bound Duke; but they may be else­where. In any case, it will mean a journey, so we had best take things for the night. No doubt they will offer to put us up.'

"There is no need for you to do so. If you prove right and Charles has shown real warmth for me in his letter, that could lead to a confrontation between me and Susan. I'd prefer to face that red-headed bitch alone. Where they are I'll ascertain in the morning.' Calmer, but still frowning, Jemima wished the woman she now regarded as no more than a spineless duenna a surly 'Good night', and left the room.

Jemima had received a bitter blow, but she was not the type of young woman to cry herself to sleep, and she was resilient by nature. The odds on becoming Countess of St. Ermins now seemed to be a hundred to one against her; but she did not mean to give up her attempt to get Charles as a husband. When she had seen Susan she would better be able to judge the depth of the girl's feeling for Charles. After all, Maureen might well be right, and the bond between them no more than a tacit acceptance of an agreement made several years before.

That did not appear to be the case as far as Charles was concerned, or he would not have urged Susan to be ready to buy her trousseau in a hurry; but it might well be with Susan. Perhaps she would be glad of an excuse to be free from her engagement. If so, Jemima meant to win her confidence and incite in her a resolution to break it off; or, failing that, by some subtle means sow dissension between them.

9

The Power of the Frog

Roger had barely glimpsed the splash made by Mary's body as it struck the water sixty feet below when his ankles were seized, and he was jerked away from the edge of the cliff. Fearing that, as had happened with Mary, the overhang of the precipice would give way beneath Roger, Leaping Squirrel dragged him back to safety.

When the Indian released his legs, Roger remained flat on his face, unmoving, his mind benumbed by horror. Only a few minutes ago, Mary had been beside him; gay, loving, courageous little Mary. He could still hear her laughter. Now she was gone—gone for ever.

It seemed impossible; he must be in the middle of a nightmare, the victim of an evil dream. Yet he knew that he was not. It had happened—happened within a yard of him. At one moment he had been looking up at the swooping eagle. The next, Mary's scream had pierced his ears. He had flung out a hand to grab her, but too late. Already her head was on a level with his waist, her mouth gaping wide, her eyes starting from her head with terror, as she shot down into the void.

He had been married to Mary for only just over three months but, apart from their earlier affair in Lisbon, ever since he had come upon her again by chance in St. Peters­burg, the previous October, they had not only lived to­gether, but had hardly ever been out of each other's sight.

Unlike the majority of couples, separated for the greater part of their waking hours, the man earning his living, the woman running the home, they had spent day after day for all that time either riding and walking side by side, together in the narrow confines of a ship's cabin, or cheek by jowl in canoes and covered wagons. In Russia they had shared burdens while trudging through hundreds of miles of snow, and slept in one sleeping bag. Grossing the Atlan­tic they had endured sickness and tempest. More recently they had again faced below-zero temperatures and, muffled in furs, fed primitively round camp fires.

They had thus attained a greater degree of intimacy than could have been achieved by years of normal mar­riage. Their minds had become so closely attuned that they could anticipate each other's thoughts. They had not had a single quarrel; and physical desire, which inevitably declines between lovers with long, constant association, in their case had not had time enough to wane.

It was not to be wondered at that Roger felt as though half of his own being had been suddenly torn from him with Mary's plunge to death over the edge of the cliff.

When, years before, he had arrived in Martinique to learn that his wife, Amanda, had just died in giving birth to Susan, he had been so grief-stricken that he had made himself drunk for a week. Now he felt that, even had he unlimited liquor at hand, no bout of drunkenness, how­ever long, could bring him to accept the loss of Mary.

They had been within an hour of getting safely over the border into Canada. Once there, it would have been only a matter of two or three months at most before they could be back in England. Only now he realised to the full how immensely he had been looking forward at long last to putting behind him the hazardous life he had led and making a home with Mary at Thatched House Lodge.

To return there without her would be an utterly dif­ferent matter. Bitterly he recalled the year he had spent in England before, out of restlessness and boredom, he had accepted the mission to Sweden which had led to his again becoming involved with Napoleon and taking part in the retreat from Moscow.

In March 1810, he had persuaded his beloved Georgina to marry him as soon as he could get back to England. In June he had actually been about to take ship from Hamburg when arrested and accused of the murder of von Haugwitz, tried and sentenced to death. His sentence had been commuted to ten years' imprison­ment. The following October he had escaped and suc­ceeded in reaching London, only to learn that Georgina, believing him dead, had succumbed to the pleading of the old Duke of Kew, and married him.

During the greater part of 1811 he had lived at Thatched House Lodge. Whenever Georgina had been in London, the two life-long lovers had again spent glorious nights together of companionship and passion. But for months at a stretch she had had to live in the country, and they had been able to snatch only occasional meetings. After the intensely active life he had led for so many years, those long periods of lonely inactivity had driven him to distraction.

Since the Duke had been stricken by paralysis, his doc­tors said that he might continue to live like a veget­able for many years. Meanwhile Georgina would remain tied to him. So, on returning to England without Mary, Roger would again be faced with the dreary, frustrating life he had lived in 1811. At the thought, he groaned aloud.

Ever since dragging him back from the precipice, Leap­ing Squirrel had been kneeling beside him, endeavouring to comfort him. Roger heard his words only as a murmur and their sense failed to register in his stunned brain. But now the Indian grasped his shoulders, shook him violently and cried in his Canadian-French patois:

'Noble one, we cannot remain here. So far we have been fortunate in keeping lead of Mohawk trackers sent after us from French Mills; but travelling with the poor, beauti­ful one put brake upon our pace. Our enemies cannot now be far behind. Once across river we shall be safe. But we dare not delay. I beg you rouse yourself.'

With a groan, Roger forced himself to his feet, took a last, despairing look at the ground, now forming the edge of the cliff, which had given way under Mary. Then he automatically fell into step behind Leaping Squirrel.

When they had covered about four hundred yards they came to a gully which led to a narrow, zigzag path descending to the river. Between the water and the cliff lay a bank of pebbles about four feet wide. Turning back, they followed it toward the cluster of large rocks, separ­ated here and there by narrow channels, through which rapids roared, but the rocks were not sufficiently far apart to prevent a bold traveller from stepping from one to another and so crossing the river.

They were just passing the pool beneath the overhang into which Mary had fallen, when Leaping Squirrel gave a loud shout and pointed. The nearest of the rocks, now only a hundred yards ahead, had a flat surface sloping slightly upward. On it, half out of the water, lay a large, furry bundle that, in the distance, might have been taken for a drowned bear.

Running and slipping on the large, uneven pebbles, the two men raced toward it. Within two minutes, outpacing Roger, the Indian had scrambled on to the rock and turned the bundle over. As he had supposed, it was Mary.

Gasping for breath, Roger joined him and stared down at the motionless figure. He was now a prey to the most agonising suspense. Was she dead, or had she only fainted? Obviously the racing river had cast her up on the rock. She could hardly have been submerged long enough to drown, but had her plunge into the icy water killed her by a heart attack ?

Leaping Squirrel tore open her furs. Roger thrust his hand between them, down to her bosom. A second later he gave a shout of joy, 'Her heart's still beating! She fives! She lives!'

Outside, her furs were soaking, but their thick skins had, in most places, protected her body from the water. Frantically they pulled off all her furs and, while Roger slapped her ribs, Leaping Squirrel massaged her hands and feet.

A few minutes later she opened her eyes, then screwed up her face, gave a cry of pain and jerked her right foot away from the Indian's grasp. He then realised, from the limpness of her foot, that her ankle was broken. Mean­while, Roger was smothering her face with kisses.

As soon as Mary was sufficiently recovered, the two men stopped massaging her. Roger wrapped her in his fur coat, and Leaping Squirrel put his fur hat, gloves and moccasins on her; then they set about the difficult task of getting her across the river.

Where the big rocks had flat surfaces, she was able with Roger's support, to hop along on her sound leg, but over the rougher stretches they had to carry her; and, as some of the chasms between the rocks were nearly a yard wide, getting her safely from one to another was a nerve-racking business. The roar of the rapids was so loud that, as they passed her wet furs done up in a bundle and their camp­ing equipment, across the rushing spates of water, they had to shout to make themselves heard.

In his bare feet the Indian was sure-footed, but Roger was far from being so. Several times he stumbled, and once his heart was in his mouth, for he tripped on a jagged stone, which caused him to let go of Mary a moment too soon. As she slid from his grasp toward the water, he was momentarily petrified by the fear that he had lost her, after all. But, just in time, Leaping Squirrel shot out a hand, caught her arm and hauled her to safety.

When over half an hour had gone by, Roger began to fear that they would never reach the opposite shore. The foaming cascades of white water sent spray that half blinded them high into the air and soaked them all from head to foot. But, at last, chilled to the marrow, with shivering bodies and chattering teeth, they crossed the final chasm and tumbled exhausted on the pebbles of the Canadian beach.

Leaping Squirrel was the first to recover. Roger had given his fur coat to Mary, so he had suffered the most severely from the icy spray. Taking off his furs the Indian threw them over him, then crossed the pebbles to a strip of earth that lay beyond them further inshore, and began to run for a hundred yards each way up and down it until he had fully restored his circulation.

On the Canadian side of the river, instead of a steep cliff, the ground rose in a gentle slope, closely covered with fir trees, few of which exceeded twenty feet in height. Having warmed himself up, Leaping Squirrel became as active as ever, darting in among the trees and collecting armfuls of small, dead branches, which he piled near his companions. Within ten minutes he had a fire going.

Meanwhile, Roger had recovered sufficiently to get out the bottle of brandy he had brought against emergencies.

All three of them took several pulls at it, and the fiery spirit soon warmed them up enough to sort out their belongings. Leaping Squirrel insisted that Roger should keep his furs until Mary's had been dried at the fire; but he took back from her his moccasins and produced a towel in which to wrap her feet.

Before doing so, Roger examined her injury. The ankle was already badly swollen and obviously broken. She said that, as far as she could judge, the water into which she had hurtled had been about twenty feet in depth, so was deep enough to break her fall, but not enough to prevent her plunging to the bottom where she had struck the rock hard with her right foot. It was the awful stab of pain as her ankle broke that had caused her to faint before coming to the surface.

Roger began to get out their provisions, with the inten­tion of cooking a meal, but the Indian checked him, say­ing, 'We are not yet safe, noble one. Leaping Squirrel made this fire only to dry clothes. If Mohawk trackers reach cliff opposite while it still daylight, they see smoke, come across rocks and capture us. Hold furs to fire while Leaping Squirrel find safe place to spend night.' Then turning away, he ran off down river.

Half an hour elapsed before he returned, dragging be­hind him two twelve-foot-long saplings from which he had trimmed the branches with Roger's tomahawk.

'What are those for ?' Mary asked.

He gave one of his rare smiles. 'Leaping Squirrel has found good place not far off. With these we make Indian sleigh to draw beautiful one. In old days we use squaws or big dogs to draw, but since Pale Faces come, we use horses.'

Laying down the two long poles about two feet apart, he began to make a cradle between their thicker ends, using the sleeping bags, small branches of fir and such cord as they had with them. By the time he had finished, their furs were dry enough to be worn again without dis­comfort. Dusk was now falling, but he took the precau­tion of kicking the fire to pieces, then threw the still-smouldering branches into the river. Their belongings were piled on the rear of the cradle, where they would form a rest for Mary's back. Having laid her on the cradle, the two men got between the slender ends of the poles, which now formed the shafts of the sleigh, picked them up and drew her along behind them.

For Mary it was bumpy going and every few minutes the jerking caused her to grimace from the pain in her ankle, but on rounding the corner of a bend in the river they saw not far ahead a cluster of great boulders. It was the place Leaping Squirrel had chosen for them to spend the night, as smoke could not be seen during darkness, and from the midst of the boulders a fire would not be visible from the opposite bank.

Leaving Mary there, the two men collected more fallen branches and soon made another fire. The Indian smoked some strips of meat on it, while Roger made a rough splint for Mary's leg from two of the straightest sticks he was able to find. This first hot meal they had eaten for several days, together with the knowledge that they were now on Canadian soil, cheered them mightily and, soon after­wards, having made themselves as comfortable as they could, they all fell sound asleep.

Leaping Squirrel was up early, and when the others awoke they found he had just returned from the forest with a big bundle of young sassafras shoots to make a more comfortable seat for Mary on the improvised sleigh. , As soon as they had made a meagre breakfast of biscuits, they set off along the shore, the two men drawing Mary behind them as they had done the previous evening. When they had been on their way for about an hour, the forest on their left gave way to stony outcrop which soon became a cliff, some thirty feet in height. Having followed it for about two hundred yards, they came upon the entrance to a low cave. The Indian called on Roger to halt and crawled into it. A moment later he gave a cry of delight, and emerged dragging after him a small, birchbark canoe. He had come up-river in it and had hidden it there, but feared that it might have been found and stolen in his absence.

It was just large enough to hold the three of them, with Roger in the stem, his legs apart so that Mary could lie between them and rest against him, while Leaping Squir­rel knelt in the prow and steered the little craft by dex­terous twists of his paddle.

As they were going with the current, their speed was several times as swift as it had been while dragging Mary on the sleigh and it was infinitely more comfortable for her. During the course of the next three hours they travel­led at least thirty miles; but it was dangerous going as, here and there, rocks and shallows had to be avoided, and with the canoe so heavily loaded a single misjudgment in steering by the Indian could have proved disastrous.

Well before midday they left the wide St. Lawrence for a tributary, which made the going very much harder and slower as they went upstream. Leaping Squirrel began to sweat profusely and, from time to time, had to pull into the bank so that he could rest. But after an hour and a half of laborious paddling he had a piece of good fortune.

They came to a cliff from which protruded a small, wooden staging about six feet above the water. On it an Indian, who had climbed down from the cliff top, was fishing for salmon by means of a pole, at the end of which there was what looked like a huge, coarse-string butterfly net. Leaping Squirrel hailed him and they spoke together in their native tongue, then the Indian picked up two fish he had caught, scaled the cliff and disappeared into the forest that fringed it.

Turning back to his companions, Leaping Squirrel said, 'That man is an Onnchataronon; not of Leaping Squir­rel's tribe. But, like all tribes north of Great Lakes, we have in Common the Algonquin tongue—while the Five Nations, who live south of lakes, all speak Iroquois tongue. If he is good runner, within two hours he be with Leaping Squirrel's people. For taking message he receive good reward. Help will be sent and, instead of making camp again, before sunset big welcome by great chief Morning Star, Leaping Squirrel's father.'

He then recommenced to paddle, but less strenuously, so that in the next three hours the canoe progressed up stream only a few miles. On rounding a bend in the river they saw coming rapidly toward them a big war canoe. As it approached, they could see that it was manned by twenty warriors; then, when it turned about, that it was made from one huge, hollowed out tree trunk. There were loud, happy shouts of greeting, a rope was thrown to Leaping Squirrel and, towed by the big canoe, the small one was borne upstream at a fine, steady speed.

Later that afternoon the canoes drew in to a landing stage, inland from which was a large clearing in the forest. They had been sighted some way off by a look-out, and his horn blowing had brought scores of braves running from the Indian settlement. At the sight of Leaping Squir­rel there were excited whoops of joy. In spite of his tat­tered garments he made a figure of great dignity as he stepped ashore, and was received by an elderly warrior wearing a mantle of wolf-skins and a head-dress from which rose buffalo horns.

For some moments Leaping Squirrel spoke in his own language to this dignitary, who then welcomed Roger and Mary in French-Canadian patois, and earnestly assured them that his whole tribe was their debtors for having saved the Chiefs son. An Indian carrying-chair, with a comfortable bark seat, was brought and Mary lifted into it; then, with the whole company chattering excitedly, they were escorted to the big village, which was hidden from the landing stage by a grove of chestnut trees, just showing their young green. Through them ran a nar­row, twisting path, along which the company, led by Leaping Squirrel, wound its way in a single file.

Beyond the grove lay an open space some two acres in extent. The greater part of it was enclosed by a palisade of stakes, with bands of porcupine quills round them. Backing on to the palisade was a great circle of tepees and wigwams, the former round-roofed, the latter tent-shaped. In the centre of the enclosure there rose a carved and painted totem pole, twenty feet in height with, beside it, a much shorter, uncarved pole painted bright red. Beyond them was a habitation many times larger than any of the others, which Roger knew must be the Longhouse, in which the Chief lived and where councils were held when the weather was inclement.

Leaping Squirrel led his visitors to a tepee which had already been prepared for them. It contained no furniture, except for two big tubs full of fresh water for washing in. It was spotlessly clean and two thick piles of furs and blankets spread on the beaten earth floor promised to serve as comfortable beds. He said that after their fatigu­ing joumey they needed a few hours' rest, then he would present them to his father. Meanwhile, refreshments would be brought and Mary's ankle would receive atten­tion.

A quarter of an hour after leaving them he returned with several young squaws, some carrying bowls of broth and others of rice mixed with deer meat; others brought flagons of Indian beer and spruce, with handleless cups to drink from. Both the bowls and cups were beautifully carved, and when Roger remarked on this, Leaping Squir­rel said that his people were good carvers and spent much of their time in the winter making such articles, and animals or toys for their children, out of yellow pine, wal­nut and black cherry.

Roger also expressed surprise at there being rice with the deer meat, as he had seen none in New York or on their journey north. 'It is wild rice,' his host told him. 'It grows in the swamps on shores of the Great Lakes. Every season many squaws go there in canoe, gather armfuls of the rice and flail kernels into baskets.'

When the meal was finished and the things cleared away, Leaping Squirrel brought in two very old squaws, who removed the splint from Mary's ankle, carefully examined it, smeared it with a pungent grease, then re-bandaged it. With much salaaming they left the tepee, drawing the curtain of hides that served as the door. Then Roger and Mary dozed for two hours in the semi-dark­ness.

Twilight was falling when Leaping Squirrel came to them again, followed by two naked 'foreheads' with a carrying-chair, into which Mary was lifted. As they left the tepee, she and Roger saw that the great open space was now occupied by several hundred people.

Furthest from the centre there stood long lines of squaws wearing gaily-coloured blankets, and forehead bands of bright beads which kept in place their long, dark hair, parted in the centre and falling to the shoulders. Nearer in there squatted semi-circles of braves, dressed in a variety of fringed garments made from the skins of animals and decorated with tufts of bright feathers, bear claws, opossum and beaver tails. Some wore necklaces of shells, others of intricately-carved wooden beads or semi­precious stones. Their headbands were of painted leather, from the scalp lock of each dangled a single, scarlet feather, and their expressionless faces were daubed with circles and lines of red, yellow and black paint.

Facing them, in a single semi-circle, sat the elders of the tribe. Their garments were richer; ermine and sable, with belts of wampum, and they wore necklaces of stone beads as large as pigeon eggs. All of them, with one excep­tion, wore head-dresses of eagle feathers reaching to their shoulders. The exception was Leaping Squirrel's father, Morning Star, who sat in the centre with his back to the totem pole. His head-dress fell on either side of his lined face, right to the ground, and his robe was made of supple skin, from which all the hair had been removed so that hieroglyphics representing his deeds of valour could be painted on it. He was wearing a number of medals presented to him by Governors of Canada for the assis­tance he had given the British. His leggings were of snake skin and he wore heavy bracelets and anklets of gold.

Although it was dusk, as Leaping Squirrel led Roger and Mary forward they were able to take in every detail of this colourful spectacle by the light of the flames from a big fire that blazed in the space between the braves and the elders. Within a few yards of his father, Leaping Squir­rel halted and, speaking in his own tongue, began to address him in a loud voice that all could hear. His oration lasted a good twenty minutes. During that time the elders maintained a dignified silence but, now and then, the braves broke into whoops of applause; so it was obvious that he was describing how he had been captured by the Americans and saved from death by the Pale Faces whom he had brought back with him.

When he ended, the braves and elders all stood up. Morning Star stepped forward, placed one hand on Roger's shoulder and the other on Mary's head, and spoke in French-Canadian patois:

'Sagamore Morning Star speaks for all his people. To the noble ones now our guests we owe a debt that all the shells of the Quahagclam that we possess could not repay. As long as they live, anything they may ask of any mem­ber of our tribe shall be given to them, and given willingly. I, Morning Star, have spoken.'

The assembly gave a great shout of assent. Mary was then carried back to her tepee, accompanied by the two old squaws, while the Sagamore led the way to the Long-house, followed by Roger, Leaping Squirrel and the elders. Another big fire was blazing in front of it, throwing up the complicated patterns with which it was painted in red, blue and yellow. Inside, the greater part of it con­sisted of one big room, on the walls of which were many trophies of the chase; heads of bison, bear and lynx, old-fashioned British Tower muskets and horrifying masks worn by the medicine-men of the tribe for certain cere­monies.

When they had sat down, cross-legged, in a circle, a feast was served, everyone helping himself with his fingers from the many dishes. Roger enjoyed the fresh-caught sal­mon and a pigeon stuffed with sage. He also recognised the bear and deer meat, but other foods were strange to him. After trying the fungus fried in fish oil, he hastily helped himself to a cornmeal cake covered in honey. One ragout was pressed upon him as a great delicacy and he found it very tasty, but felt distinctly queasy when, having asked Leaping Squirrel what it was, he learned that it was stewed dog.

The feast over, the ceremonial pipe of peace was brought to the Sagamore. He lit it, drew on it, exhaled the smoke, then passed it to Roger, who did likewise, then passed it to Leaping Squirrel who was seated on his other side. Complete silence was maintained until the pipe had made the full circle, then it was emptied of its remaining tobacco and returned to the place where it had hung on the wall. As the slow, measured talk began again, nearly all the elders produced their own pipes and began to smoke. The bowls of the pipes—for which the Indian word was calumet—were beautifully-carved stone of many colours, their stems long tubes of wood. Later Roger learned that many of the younger braves who could not yet afford such valuable pieces used their tomahawks as pipes by hollowing out the handle of the weapon and grinding a bowl in the thick end of the axe.

Although there were several round holes in the roof of the Longhouse to let out the smoke, so much of it lingered in the big room that Roger's eyes soon began to smart. After his long day he also felt very tired, but feared that it might be regarded as bad manners if he, as the guest of honour, asked permission to leave the party. Fortunately, his drooping eyelids were noticed by Leaping Squirrel, who whispered to his father. The Sagamore at once stood up, and all the others followed suit. When Roger had expressed his thanks, his host touched him on the arm and wished him good rest. All the elders came forward in turn and did the same, then Leaping Squirrel took him to his' tepee where, in English fashion, they shook hands. Inside the tepee a single rush light was burning, and Mary, he was pleased to find, was fast asleep, with one of the squaws seated silently beside her. After whispering a few words, the old woman glided out, and ten minutes later, he too was fast asleep.

In the days that followed Roger learned a lot about Leaping Squirrel's people from him. In earlier times the eleven tribes of the Algonquin nation had lived further south, but they had been defeated in a great war with the Iroquois and driven north of the St. Lawrence and the Great Lakes. Having settled in Canada, they had become firmly attached to the French, but after their defeat the Algonquin had sided with the British against the Ameri­cans. Pointing to the red-painted post that stood near the totem pole, Leaping Squirrel had added, 'Whenever our tribes go to war with Americani, such posts are set up in all villages to show that we are allies of the Englesi.'

Leaping Squirrel also said that, although the Iroquois were now fighting for the Americans, they did so only from fear that, if they refused, they would be driven from their present settlements. When Europeans had first come to America, but for the help the Indians had given them it is doubtful if they would have survived; yet, again and again, their kindness had been repaid by treachery. As the numbers of American settlers increased, they had pushed further and further inland, driving the Indians before them, and depriving them of their hunting grounds. Many treaties had been made, and when an Indian Chief gave his word and a wampum belt, he regarded his promise as sacred. But the land hunger of the Americans had caused them to break treaty after treaty; so, from south to north, they were hated by every tribe.

Mary had to keep to her bed for her ankle to mend, but on some days Leaping Squirrel took Roger hunting. Out­side the palisade there was a large area where various crops, including tobacco, were grown; but the patches were irregular, because the Indians could cut down trees but had no means of dragging out the stumps of big oaks, elms and sycamores. Here and there among the patches were small platforms raised a few feet from the ground. On asking their purpose, Roger was told that, when the crops ripened, either children or squaws who were too old for other work, sat on them as living scarecrows, to drive off the crows.

Beyond the cultivated area virgin forest stretched for miles, where game abounded and innumerable grouse and pigeons. Leaping Squirrel would not let Roger use a gun, as a single report scared the wild life for a long way round. Instead, he taught him to use a bow and arrows fletched with turkey feathers. Small game was also caught in snares made from grass and reeds. The forest alone would have provided ample food for the tribe, but they also netted a variety of fish from the river, and it was so plentiful that they often deliberately caught more than they needed to eat, allowing the surplus to go bad so that it could be used as manure. Yet their staple dish was neither fish nor game. They seemed to prefer Scuccotash—a mixture of corn and beans cooked in meat broth.

Roger was surprised to find that couples did not live together. Early every summer there was a great ceremony. The young squaws were paraded, and the virtues of each in turn extolled by one of the old women. The girl was then chosen by one of the braves, who took her off into the forest. On their return she went back to the squaws' tepees and in due course had her child; but not until the child was a year old was the father, or any other man, allowed to take notice of her again. Even if the parents met on a narrow path she had to stand aside while he pretended that he had forgotten even her name.

A large part of the squaws' time was occupied in col­leering birch bark, and they were often to be seen doing so with a young papoose strapped to a board on their backs. The bark was used to make canoes, tepees and wig­wams, the latter having a framework of pine poles. The long, thin roots of tarmac trees were used to sew the strips of bark together, then the seams were waterproofed with the heavy resin from gum trees.

In the winter the squaws made leather sacks to hold corn, waterskins, clothes and fishing lines. Many of the young ones were good-looking; but, close to, they smelt unpleasantly of rancid grease, owing to their custom of plastering their hair, during the period when the moon was waxing, with the fat of animals whose virtues they wished to possess: a deer's for swiftness, a beaver's for industry, and an owl's to make them wise at night.

Apart from this unpleasant habit of smearing grease on their hair, Roger found the Indians surprisingly clean. Both the men and women bathed regularly in the river, rubbing their bodies with a type of fern that made a soapy lather. At times they also took sauna baths in tepees set apart, where they turned water into steam by pouring it over heated stones. Instead of shaving, the men plucked the hairs from their faces with bone tweezers, and without even wincing, for it was part of a brave's training to show no evidence of feeling pain.

To qualify for the red feather, they went through hide­ous ordeals. Leaping Squirrel had held a red-hot stone under his armpit for ten minutes, without flinching. Until well into middle age, they kept themselves extraordinarily supple and muscular by constant exercise. Their favourite game was lacrosse, played so ferociously with wooden clubs and a stuffed deerskin ball, that broken heads were not uncommon.

At their first meeting, Morning Star had asked Roger his intentions, and he had replied that, as soon as Mary's ankle was strong enough, they wanted to go to Montreal. The old squaws had had long experience in healing broken limbs, and on the ninth day after her arrival they declared her fit to travel. It was then arranged that on the follow­ing morning everything should be made ready for their departure, and that Leaping Squirrel would accompany them.

After the evening meal that day, which Roger always ate in the Longhouse with Morning Star and the elders, the Sagamore dismissed his subordinates, saying that he wished to talk alone with Roger.

When they had smoked in silence for a few minutes, the old man said, 'Morning Star owes the life of his be­loved son, Leaping Squirrel, to the noble one, and wishes to pay this debt.'

Roger bowed. 'Sir, Leaping Squirrel saved the lives of my squaw and myself by getting us safely across the rapids, so there is no debt to repay.'

'There is a difference. Comrades always help one another to overcome danger from the harsh aspects of nature. From the malice of man it is not normal for Pale Faces to give a red man unknown to them their protec­tion.'

'It was Leaping Squirrel's declaring himself to be a Christian that enabled me to save him.'

'The Great Spirit counselled Morning Star wisely in sending Leaping Squirrel to gain knowledge of the ways of the Pale Faces at the Mission. My thought was not that he should be converted, but when he becomes Sagamore be more able in negotiating with the Chiefs of the Pale Faces. But it is possible to pay homage to new gods while retaining the beliefs of one's ancestors. That is so with Leaping Squirrel.'

Roger nodded. 'I understand that. I have travelled much and come to realise that God may be worshipped with many different ceremonies and under different names/

'The noble one speaks as Morning Star expected; for at first sight he recognised him to be a Twice-Born. During many lives he has sought the help of the Great Spirit through a great diversity of forms. Is the noble one yet capable of leaving his body at will ?'

'No; but when in the East I met a number of saintly men whom I believed to be capable of doing so.'

'Morning Star is blessed by having advanced to that state. Out of his body he has travelled far and wide. He has observed in their own country the black faces such as are brought to slave in the cotton fields of the Americani; the yellow men who live across the great waters beyond the setting sun, and the Pale Faces in their vast tepees made from baked earth and stone, forming villages com­pared to which Montreal is no

more than a few wigwams.'

With intense interest, Roger enquired, 'What opinion, Sir, did you form of the way of life of these distant peoples?'

'Among the black faces there is much ignorance and cruelty, among the yellow men much wisdom but also cruelty. Yet there is more misery among the Pale Faces than there is among any other people, and in time they will destroy themselves.'

Greatly surprised, Roger asked, 'Why, Sir, should you think that? The civilisation of Europe is far in advance of any other. We have learned how to harness the forces of nature, so that we can manufacture innumerable useful articles in great quantities, with far less toil than the more primitive races.'

'That is the seed of your future destruction. Whole tribes of your people spend their lives delving in darkness far underground. Others labour from childhood to old age in tepees fifty times the size of this Longhouse. In them they work streaming with sweat as they feed roaring fires, deafened by the thunder of machines, rendered breathless by steam hissing from huge iron cauldrons and poisoned by noxious fumes. It is too late for them to stop. They must go on until all your people, but for a very few, are forced to become machines themselves. They will build more and more of those great tepees until you have no forests, no open country left. Their bodies will deteriorate from lack of sunshine, of clean air, or healthy exercise. How much better is our way of life: to cultivate the land and enjoy its produce, to hunt in the forests and fish in the rivers, to fashion our simple requirements by hand, and dance and feast here round our totem poles.'

Many of the expressions actually used by the Sagamore Roger found difficult to understand, but in the main he absorbed their meaning; and, recalling the journeys he had made in the Midlands and north of England, where the Industrial Revolution had taken place toward the end of the previous century, he felt bound to agree.

After a moment's silence, the Sagamore resumed, 'But it is not of these things that Morning Star wished to speak to the noble one. It is clear that, although a Christian, he recognises that form of worship to be new compared with others. Therefore, he cannot believe that the Christian Father God created the world.'

'No,' Roger replied. 'He was simply adopted by the early Christians from the Jehovah of the Jews, and there were many other beliefs far older than theirs.'

'The noble one speaks truly, and the origin of all is embodied in our totem pole. Does he know its meaning?'

'Leaping Squirrel told me that the eagle at the top represents the Spirit of the Air, the wolf the Spirit of the Land, the whale the Spirit of the Sea, and the frog at the bottom the union of Earth and Water.'

'The Frog represents more than that, for he moves by leaping, so he is also symbolical of Air. Thus he is the basis of all things. I cannot confer upon the noble one the ability to leave his body at will, but I am a son of the Frog and can confer his power on one other person before I die. This way Morning Star will pay his debt.'

'I...' Roger hesitated. ‘I ... no, Sir. No, this should go to your heir, Leaping Squirrel.'

The Sagamore's heavily-lidded eyes showed a gleam of appreciation, but he shook his befeathered head. 'Leaping Squirrel is wise and brave. He will make a good Chief and Morning Star has no fears for him; whereas his spirit tells him that a time may come when the noble one's need may be great. I have spoken. Now, bare your right arm.'

As Roger obeyed, the old Indian drew a sharp knive from his wampum belt, bared his own left arm and made a slight nick in it, then he nicked Roger's arm. Globules of blood welled up from both arms and they held them together for a minute so that their blood mingled. Then the Sagamore rose, and said, 'Come with me.'

Outside the Longhouse the village was now very quiet. All but a few braves, squatting by the watchfire, were sleeping. The moon was nearly full and only occasionally obscured by small, scudding clouds. By its light Roger followed Morning Star out into the woods, and along a winding path through them for about half a mile until they came to a big lake. On the shore the Sagamore halted and made sounds like the croaking of a frog.

A moment later a large frog jumped out of the water. It was followed by others, until the whole shore for yards round was covered with a mass of them, leaping and croaking, and Roger marvelled that so many could come up out of one lake. Morning Star then addressed them:

As he began to speak, they all fell silent, and their pro­truding eyes stared up at him. Roger never knew what he said, because he spoke in his own language; but when he ceased speaking, the frogs all gave one loud croak, then tumbling over one another, jumped back into the lake.

Morning Star's lined face broke into a smile. Putting an arm round Roger's shoulders, he said, 'The noble one is now my brother and my equal. The Frog People have accepted him. Henceforth, when evil threatens, he can thwart it by calling on the great spirit that embodies the Power of the Frog.'

10

Plot to Supplant a Rival

On the morning of the day that Roger and Leaping Squir­rel got Mary across the St. Lawrence, Jemima came downstairs grimly determined to face Susan and learn her reactions on being given the letter received the previous night.

While taking her morning chocolate and fresh rolls in bed, Jemima had had a running footman despatched to Berkeley Square, and he had just returned to report that Miss Brook and the Duchess were not at Newmarket, but at the latter's old home, Stillwaters, near Ripley in Surrey.

Jemima was already dressed for the road, and had a night bag with her. The Luggala coach had been ordered round from the nearby mews, and by eleven o'clock she was on her way out of London.

Very soon she had left the streets behind and was cover­ing the miles of semi-open country to the south of the capital where, between ancient villages, numerous man­sions standing in small parks were scattered among farms, orchards and market gardens. Gradually the buildings grew fewer and fields separated by patches of woodland lined the road until they reached Ripley.

There Jemima's coachman pulled up at the Talbot Inn, to enquire the whereabouts of the house, and was told that they had passed the entrance to the estate half a mile back. The man then remembered noticing the handsome iron gates described. Ten minutes later, they had been opened by a lodge-keeper, and the coach was rolling up a long drive, bordered on either side by woods.

In the Spring sunshine, the country was looking its best, and Jemima had enjoyed the twenty-mile drive. Now she looked about her with special interest, for she had often heard of Stillwaters and how, in the latter years of the previous century, its beautiful mistress had held fabulous parties there, entertaining royalties, ambassadors and ministers.

Among the trees there were big patches of primroses and, farther on, glades in which hundreds of daffodils were in bloom. As the coach emerged from the drive, Jemima caught her first glimpse of the stately mansion and the terrace, with its stone urns and statues, which ran the whole length of it. Through the other window of the coach, she saw the close-cropped lawns running down to the lovely lake that gave the place its name. At this sight, the bile of covetousness almost choked Jemima. If only her hopes that Charles would marry her had been better grounded, not only would she have become the mistress of his mansion in Berkeley Square and his seat at White Knights Park but also, when his mother died, of this mag­nificent domain.

The footman on duty met the coach at the door. Jemima learned from him that Susan was out riding, but he offered to take the visitor's name in to the Duchess; and five minutes later she was being received by Georgina.

When Jemima wished to please, she was an adept at it; her manners were admirable and her conversation intelligent. On these grounds and her dark good looks Georgina, being confident that no woman could replace Susan in her son's heart, had thought Jemima very suit­able to provide him with a temporary amusement, par­ticularly as her psychic sense told her that the girl was very far from being a prude, and was therefore just what Charles needed as an outlet for his urges until the time came for him to marry.

In consequence, she gave Jemima a smiling welcome, and said at once, 'My dear, I can guess the reason to which we owe the pleasure of seeing you here. Only this morning one of my grooms brought me from London a packet from Charles. In it there was a letter for myself and one for you. The foolish boy must have sent it with mine instead of one for Susan, and you have received the one for her. Am I not right ?'

'Indeed, Your Grace has guessed aright.' Jemima curt­seyed again and, with a flourish, produced the letter for Susan from her reticule.

Smiling again, Georgina took'it. 'How very sweet of you to have brought it all this way yourself. Susan is out riding with Lord Bellsavage and Mr. ffoulks. But they will soon be back. You will stay and dine, of course. And after­wards, if you prefer not to make another twenty-mile journey this evening, we should be happy for you to stay the night.'

'You are most kind; and, unaccompanied, I'd be a little scared of falling a prey to a highwayman after dark. So I brought a night bag, meaning to get myself a room at the inn. Naturally, I'd liefer accept Your Grace's hospi­tality.'

'That's settled then.' Georgina sent for Madeira and biscuits to refresh her guest and shortly afterwards Susan came in, accompanied by the two men. Mr. ffoulks was quite young and evidently a beau of Susan's. Lord Bellsavage was in his thirties and, Jemima guessed, having an affair with the beautiful Duchess.

The two girls went into the adjoining room and there exchanged letters. Jemima read hers with some degree of satisfaction. It was much shorter than the one to Susan, and contained no expressions of fervid attachment; but it showed sufficient warmth for Jemima to believe that if Susan was secretly averse to marrying Charles she might yet get him for herself.

For Jemima to have known that the letter she had received was intended for Susan she would have had to read it to the last paragraph. Realising this, Susan said to her:

'Jemima, dear. This letter has apprised you of the secret that Charles and I have long been engaged; but we also agreed to indulge ourselves in the pleasure of flirtations for a while before entering on married bliss, so I do pray you breathe not a word to others of our intentions.'

'You have my word that I will observe your wish,' Jemima replied, a little coldly, 'although I fear you must both have found food for laughter in my having such a predilection for your Charles.'

'Nay. I know him to be too honest a man to have led you to suppose that he had serious intentions toward you; that being so, I can hardly think you would expect more of him than admiration and affection. Life at our age would be dull without kisses. And, believe me, I do not grudge those Charles may have given you, any more than he would me those I have let Harry ffoulks and others take off me.'

'Dear Susan, we are at one in our ideas,' Jemima laughed, 'and I pray that you may enjoy many a warm embrace before Charles returns to claim you.' But secretly she was thinking, 'You self-confident little fool. With luck, you'll overplay your hand and find yourself desperately enamoured of one of the men you toy with so lightly. Then, if Charles finds out, he'll repudiate you and be easy game for me.'

Georgina had invited some neighbours, mostly young people, over for dinner that day, so Susan lent Jemima an evening dress, and they sat down eleven to table. It proved a gay meal, and afterwards, to the music of a still-room maid who played the pianoforte and an under-gardener who was a good fiddler, they danced. Jemima thoroughly enjoyed herself and, the following morning, drove back to London in a much more optimistic frame of mind than she had left it.

However, she had been badly shaken by learning that Charles, far from looking on Susan as a sister, was secretly her fiance, and gave the impression in his letter of being deeply in love with her; so, having told Maureen Luggala all that had occurred at Stillwaters, Jemima decided that afternoon to consult her mother.

When she arrived at the house in Islington, the foot­man told her that his mistress had a gentleman with her, but he would let her know that Miss Luggala was asking to see her. After Jemima had waited for a few minutes in the hall, the man returned and showed her into the pleasant room at the back of the house where the Irish witch had first acknowledged Jemima to be her daughter and in which they had since frequently spent several hours together.

On this occasion there was a short, tubby, middle-aged gentleman with her mother. He had rubicund cheeks and a genial manner. Jemima was introduced to him as Miss Luggala, and her mother went on :

'My dear, this is Mynheer Cornelius Quelp, a Dutch gentleman, but French on his mother's side. It is he who carries the information we gather to Paris, by means of a smuggler's craft that runs cargoes between England and Holland. It was only last night that he landed in Essex, and is giving me the latest news from the Continent.'

To the plump man she added, 'You need have no apprehension, Mynheer, regarding the discretion of this young lady. She and her mother, Lady Luggala, are among my most valuable sources for collecting useful tittle-tattle in high society, and both are as devoted as you or I to the Emperor's cause.'

The Dutchman kissed Jemima's hand and expressed his pleasure at meeting so charming an ally; then they seated themselves and, speaking fluent English with only a slight accent, he went on:

'I was just saying how happy I am to be able to report that His Imperial Majesty's affairs are in far better shape than any of us had reason to expect after the terrible disas­ter he met with last winter. His vitality and resource are truly inexhaustible. The negotiations for an armistice, which were begun in February, are still proceeding and if one can be arranged that will be all to the good, since it will give him more time to equip and train the new army he is forming.

'Fortunately, last September, while still in Moscow, he had the forethought to send orders back to France for the call-up of the class due for conscription in 1813, and it is estimated that will bring him some one hundred and thirty-seven thousand new troops. Further levies are being raised in Italy, the Netherlands, Westphalia, Bavaria, Saxony and other German lands. Including those he is withdrawing from Spain, he should have under his hand nearly six hundred and fifty thousand men by the summer. A great part of these have yet to be embodied and trained, and he still has a heavy commitment in Spain, but already over two hundred thousand are available in the army of the West, and they hold all the fortresses on the Elbe, the Weser and the Oder.'

'That is indeed good news’ smiled the beautiful witch. 'But what of our enemies ?'

'The pursuit of the Grande Armee cost the Russians dear, Madame. They suffered almost as severely as the French from campaigning in such intense cold and living on starvation rations. So poor is their condition that General Kutusov is known to favour entering on a peace, as opposed to the Czar, whose ambition has been fired by his success in driving the French from his country. He has ordered the formation of a reserve army, but the Russians are poor organisers and have great distances to cover, so it will probably be many months before these new con­scripts are available for operations. In the meantime, it is believed that the Russian army in the field has been reduced to not much more than one hundred thousand men.'

'And the Prussians? I recall that General von Yorck, who commanded the Prussian contingent in the invasion of Russia, ratted on his chief, Marshal Macdonald and, in the last stage of the retreat, slunk off to Poland without his men having fired a shot.'

'That is true, Madame; and it has since been learned that he had been secretly instructed by his King to avoid giving aid to his French allies, wherever possible. It was the same in the case of General von Schwarzenberg, who commanded the Austrian Corps on the other wing.'

'What shameful conduct!' exclaimed Jemima. ‘I only pray that events will enable the Emperor to punish both sovereigns for their treachery.'

Cornelius Quelp nodded. 'The summer campaign may well enable him to do so, at least in the case of the King of Prussia; but at the moment the situation is extremely con­fused. Technically, Russia and Prussia are still at war, and King Frederick William is too cowardly a man to defy the Emperor by openly changing sides. Yet von Yorck and the army he commands have as good as done so, for he has made a pact with the Russian General Diebitch, which allows the enemy to advance along the Prussian coastal roads without opposition.

'Still more embarrassing for the pusillanimous King is the attitude of his people. For years past, men like Fichte, Stein and Steffens have been inciting the German masses to revolt and drive the French from their territories. Even Scharnhorst and Gneisenau, the King's principal military advisers, are pressing him to break with France. But should he do so, it will be at his peril. It is doubtful if Prussia could raise an army of forty thousand men. The Danes are our staunch allies, also Bavaria and Saxony, and Marshal Davout holds Hanover in a grip of iron. After the retreat from Russia we still had a garrison of thirty thousand in Danzig alone, General Regnier retired on Warsaw with forty thousand, Prince Eugene lies be­hind him with a field army of sixteen thousand. In Brandenberg and the fortresses we have at least another thirty thousand; so, with the addition of the great reinforce­ments that the Emperor is sending across the Rhine, even supported by Russia what chance would those miserable Prussians have?'

'So far, Mynheer, you have said naught of Austria,' the witch remarked shrewdly.

'From that direction lies our only danger,' Quelp re­plied. 'She is still allied to France, but only keeping up an appearance of hostilities against Russia. She is known to be bringing her army up to one hundred and fifty thou­sand men and, did she once again turn her coat, that would give our enemies parity.'

'You fail to take into account the genius of the Em­peror’ put in Jemima.

'No, no!' Quelp smiled. 'I am far from doing that. And, since the councils of the others would be divided, I doubt not he would emerge victorious.'

For a further half-hour they continued to discuss the situation on the Continent, marvelling that Napoleon had made such a swift and remarkable recovery after his defeat in Russia, and with their confidence renewed that he would yet again defeat the combination which was forming against him. Then Mynheer Quelp took his leave.

As soon as the door had closed behind him, Jemima told her mother about the letters from Charles, then said how shattered she had been to learn that he was engaged to Susan, and apparendy still deeply in love with her. When she had done, her mother said thoughtfully :

'It is just possible that Maureen Luggala is right in that Charles now regrets having become affianced to Susan, but lacks the courage to break it off. Yet I am inclined to doubt that. Were it so, having no reason to suppose that Susan would ever see his letter to you, he would have expressed himself much more passionately in it.'

Jemima made a grimace. 'Alas, that is what I also feel. And worse—his stating that he means to marry Susan the moment he gets back from the war sadly reduced my hopes. Charles has no streak of cruelty in him, so would never have confirmed her belief that he intends to make her his wife did he not consider his promise binding.'

'Then we must find some other husband for you. What think you of Lord Broughton? It is a fine place he has in Yorkshire, and he is mightily good-looking.' .

'Nay. He is a most consummate bore, and can talk of naught but dogs and horses.'

'Everard Winstanley, then? Although he has no title, he is one of the richest men in England.'

'He is so inveterate a gambler that he may not remain so for much longer. Tis said that but a se'nnight since he lost five thousand guineas wagering that one raindrop run­ning down a window in White's Club would reach the sill before another.'

'The Earl of Tulloch ? His Scottish estate alone is near the size of a county, and he has others in Wales and Somerset.'

'I thank you, no. He openly boasts that no bawdy house in London procures a new girl of any beauty but he's the first to have her. He'd give me the pox before I'd been married to him a month.'

'Young Hector Vaughan is both personable and witty, and he will inherit much property in London and Ardesley Hall when the old Lord, his father, dies.'

'I've no mind to make do on an allowance while wait­ing for dead men's shoes.'

'Sir Denison Hever-Crew then. He...'

'No, mother, no!' Jemima interrupted impatiently. 'My mind is set on having Charles. His letter to Susan has revealed that all the odds are now against me. Or would be, had I not you for my mother. But you are not as other mothers. You are versed in the secret arts that can alter people's destinies. Use them for me, I beg.'

'There are limits, child, to what can be done in that way. To influence a person in a matter concerning them so vitally as turning love to dislike it is necessary to have frequent converse with them. Could you bring Susan here to me so that I became well acquainted with the girl I could, in time, dominate her mind. Bur. that is not pos­sible because, as you will recall, that fool Hawksbury brought her here last New Year's Eve without preparing her for what would take place. The little prude was shocked and Charles wrought havoc with our ceremony to get her away. Since we were face to face, 'tis certain she would recognise me. Knowing me for what I am, she would instantly oppose my every thought, and as soon make friends with the Devil as with myself.'

'Were matters otherwise, how would you proceed to turn her mind against Charles?'

'By mesmerism.'

'I have heard the term, but know little of it.'

' 'Tis a form of occultism introduced by a Dr. Anton Mesmer. In Paris, just before the Revolution, he opened a clinic and there performed many miracles of healing. But it can also be used for other purposes. People can be made to believe that when drinking water it is wine. By a series of treatments they can be persuaded that their friends are really enemies, and to perform acts that they would recoil from in horror had their minds not been distorted by this mysterious influence.'

'Can anyone learn to use this power?'

'Given sufficient concentration, the majority of people can.'

Jemima's dark eyes suddenly lit up. 'Then I pray you, mother, teach me this strange art. Yesterday I was made most welcome at Stillwaters. It should not be difficult for me to become Susan's bosom friend. Then, if I had this power, I could secretly employ it gradually to dominate her mind.'

The Irish witch smiled. 'You are indeed my daughter. So be it then. You shall practise with my guidance on the servants here, daily for the next few weeks. If your thought forces became really potent, the game will then be in our hands. You will have the power to cause Susan to doubt Charles's love for her, or if need be become so men­tally ill as to be unfit to marry.'

11

Home Again! Home Again!

Roger had kept a record of the days, and it was the morn­ing of April 19th when he and Mary left the Indian settlement in which they had stayed nine days. One of the big war canoes had been made ready with a good supply of provisions and tentage in it. Leaping Squirrel took twelve braves with him to propel the canoe, and four naked 'foreheads' as servants. With a specially-shaped paddle he steered the canoe from the stern, while Mary and Roger sat in front of him on piles of blankets.

They had some eighty miles to go, the latter part of the way lying through places where the river was so wide that it really formed a series of lakes; but, as they were heading downstream both along the tributary and later when they turned east into the St. Lawrence, they travelled at a good speed.

That night they landed and made camp on the south side of the river, for at that date the State of Vermont extended only to the latitude of Rouse's Point, at the head of Lake Champlain, and all the territory north of it was still part of Canada. Having no fear of hostile Indians there, a camp fire was made and a good meal enjoyed; but afterwards they were put to the inconvenience of shift­ing camp a quarter of a mile further along the shore, as a swarm of huge, black ants had been attracted by the smell of cooking.

The following morning they made an early start and soon after midday emerged from a lake, crossed narrower water to the north shore, and landed on the island of Montreal.

Before leaving the settlement Mary had given two little, silver-topped bottles, one of which contained smell­ing salts and the other a residue of opium to dull pain, to the old squaws who had tended her. Now, wishing to leave the twelve braves some small souvenirs, she cut into strips a gaily-coloured, silk scarf that she had bought in New York, and tied a strip round the arm of each man. Their gratitude was profound and, kneeling in turn, they kissed the hem of her fur coat. Meanwhile, Roger had presented Leaping Squirrel with his sword, and nothing could have more delighted their cherished Indian friend.

After taking an affectionate leave of him, they hired a carriage on the waterfront and were driven to the Gover­nor's residence. Their clothes were so worn and stained that when Roger asked to see the Governor, the footman who had admitted them looked at him askance. Ignoring the man, Roger sat down at a table in the hall which had writing materials on it, and wrote a brief note, handed it to him and said abruptly:

'Don't stand there staring. Take that to His Excellency and be quick about it.'

Impressed by Roger's air of authority, the servant's manner instantly changed. Bowing, he took the paper and said, 'His Excellency is from home, Sir, down at the head­quarters in Ottawa. But I'll take this to his deputy, Briga­dier General Sir Wallace Warren.'

Roger had written in the note, 'My wife, Lady Mary Brook, and I have recently succeeded in crossing the bor­der from the United States. While there I obtained infor­mation that may be of value, and request the honour of an interview.'

His mention of Mary had been deliberate, as he felt certain that, on realising they were people of quality, the Governor would not fob them off on some subordinate. After a few minutes the footman returned, led them down a passage and ushered them into a handsome, book-lined room.

The General proved to be a short, stout little man with a rubicund face and slightiy protruding blue eyes. Stand­ing up, he came round his desk and greeted them cordi­ally. In the course of the next few minutes Roger gave an abbreviated account of how they came to be in America and their adventures since leaving French Mills, then he. said:

'Perhaps, Sir, you would be good enough to give me the name of the best hostel in the city, where we can lodge in reasonable comfort and replenish our sadly depleted ward­robes before proceeding on our journey. I will, of course, wait upon you again at any time that may be convenient, to give you, or one of your officers, such particulars as I can regarding the forces of our enemy.'

'No, no!' the General protested quickly. 'You must be our guests while in Montreal, and it is now too late in the day for you to purchase your requirements. Tomorrow will be time enough. My wife will be happy to lend Lady Mary a change of clothes for this evening, and we will dine informally.'

Roger gladly accepted the offer. A little later, Lady Warren joined them. She was elderly, white-haired and limped in, using a stick, as she was a martyr to arthritis. But her forbidding expression became a kindly one when she was told what Mary had been through and, with motherly concern, she took her upstairs. Sir Wallace then turned Roger over to his valet. An hour later, when they met again, bathed and in borrowed plumage, they felt like different people.

At dinner, besides themselves and the Warrens, there were only the A.D.G. and his wife : a pretty, snub-nosed, vivacious young woman. Over the meal the four residents were fascinated by the account Roger and Mary gave of their stay in an Indian settlement. Afterwards, when the ladies had retired, the General suggested that they should take their port into the library. ,

There, while the A.D.G. took notes, Roger gave parti­culars of the military situation on the other side of the river. Having spent so many years with armies, he was a highly-trained observer, so was able to provide an expert appreciation of the strength, morale and communications of the United States forces on that front.

During the three days that followed, Roger and Mary re-equipped themselves with clothes, portmanteaux and other necessities, mainly at the Hudson's Bay Company's store. They were surprised to find how large a proportion of the inhabitants of the city were of French descent and still spoke Canadian French; but they had been under British rule for fifty years and, their hereditary enemies having been the Americans, there could be no doubt where their loyalties lay. They had also largely contributed to making Montreal a more pleasant place in which to live than most American cities, for they had retained the cul­inary art of their ancestors. Roger and Mary discovered this on their second day, when the A.D.C. and his wife took them to dine at a restaurant in the old French quar­ter. It was the most sophisticated meal they had enjoyed for many a day.

On April 23rd they took leave of the hospitable War­rens, and went aboard a brig in which the General had secured passages for them down the freely navigable stretch of the St. Lawrence to Quebec.

The wind being favourable, the brig covered the one hundred and sixty-odd miles in good time, and they landed in Quebec on the 25th. Sir Wallace had provided Roger with an introduction to the Governor, Vice-Admiral Sir Cyprian Crow, so they were welcomed by him at Admiralty House that evening, on his return from inspecting the Royal Marine Depot. In the meantime they had been entertained by a Mrs. Rusholm, the Admiral's widowed sister who, as he was a bachelor, had come out to run his house for him. She had at once invited them to stay and the Admiral became even more genial when it transpired that he had been a junior Captain under Roger's father, the late Admiral Sir Christopher Brook.

That night there was a dinner party at which most of the other guests were officers, and Roger found that he shared mutual acquaintances with several of them. As Mrs. Rusholm employed a French chef, the meal was excellent, and the glasses were kept well filled throughout, so it proved a merry evening. After the loyal toast, the Admiral proposed, 'To Hell and Davy Jones with the Americans', which was drunk with enthusiasm by all.

Next morning Roger consulted his host about a passage back to England, Gouvemeur Morris's loan enabling him to add that he could afford to pay for the best accommo­dation available. Upon which the jovial sailor exclaimed :

'Pay be damned! If my old chief’s son is not entitled to a free passage home, who in thunder is? I've a frigate with despatches sailing in the course of a week. You met Cap­tain Saunders at dinner last night. He's the "owner". You and your lady will sail with him. Meantime, we'll do our best to make your stay in this town of friendly frog-eaters as enjoyable as possible.'

So the matter was swiftly settled. During the next six days Roger and Mary were taken to see the Heights of Abraham, scaled in the night by General Wolfe's troops to take by surprise in the morning and defeat those of the Marquis de Montcalm; to the great Chateau named after Cardinal de Richelieu who, long ago, had made eastern Canada New France; to see an inspection of recently-landed British reinforcements for the Army; for drives in the surrounding country and to dine and dance.

On May 2nd, they were welcomed by Captain Saun­ders aboard the thirty-two gun frigate Albatross and, a few hours later, to the thunder of a Vice-Admiral's salute, waved good-bye to Sir Cyprian and his sister as the ship set sail for England.

During the voyage Roger suffered from his habitual sea-sickness, but neither so frequently nor so badly as he had done on his way to America, as that had been in mid­winter, whereas now summer, with mostly blue skies and calmer seas, was the order of the day.

On the evening of Friday, June 11th, they docked at Portsmouth. The Lieutenant-Colonel carrying the des­patches landed at once, to take them with all possible speed to the Prince Regent, and the Commander-in-Chief at the Horse Guards. Roger and Mary went ashore the next morning and drove to London in a hired coach.

As was his custom whenever he returned from abroad, Roger went straight to Amesbury House in Arlington Street, where his greatest friend, Lord Edward Fitz-Deverel had an upper floor as his personal suite, and always put him up. As it was the height of the London season, Roger felt certain that 'Droopy Ned'—as Lord

Edward was known to his friends, owing to shortsighted­ness which caused him to have a permanent stoop—would be in residence; but a footman told him that he was stay­ing the night with friends at Twickenham, to attend a masked ball at the Duke of Northumberland's mansion, Sion House. Neither was his lordship's father there, for the Earl, now being over seventy and in poor health, rarely came to London.

However, the major-domo, who had known Roger since he was a boy, was sent for, greeted him warmly and assured him that Lord Edward would take it most ill if he and his lady slept elsewhere that night. So rooms were swiftly prepared for them, and a welcome supper sent up.

In the morning they rose late and, on going downstairs, learned that Droopy was not expected back until the late afternoon. Roger then took the first step in a policy that he had already decided to adopt. Fond as he was of Mary, he had no intention of being tied to her apron-strings, or ever giving anything but a vague indication of his doings when away from her. So, having settled her comfortably in the small library with the latest periodicals and news sheets, he said:

'My love, I am now going out, and I'll not be back for luncheon, as I have various matters to attend to. Some time, too, I must wait upon Lord Castlereagh to give him the latest news from America; but, while I am absent, I am sure that you will be well looked after.'

As he had expected, Mary, knowing that all his life he had been involved in foreign affairs at the highest level, made no great demur. Having kissed her good-bye, he took his hat and went out into the June sunshine.

But he did not proceed in the direction of Whitehall. Instead, on reaching Piccadilly, he turned left and walked down the hill to Kew House, one of the fine mansions that looked out over St. James's Park, for it was there that his beloved Georgina normally lived during the London sea­son, as she preferred it in the summer to Charles's house in Berkeley Square.

To his great disappointment he learned that Georgina was not in residence, and was further distressed on being told that, a week before, the horses of her carriage had bolted, resulting in an unpleasant accident. She had suf­fered no serious injury, but her face had been badly bruised and she had broken her collar bone; so she had gone down to the country until she was sufficiently restored to appear again in society. However, on enquiring the whereabouts of Miss Brook, he was told that his daughter was there; so he had himself shown up to her boudoir.

It was over eighteen months since he had seen Susan, so he found that she was now a nearly full-grown woman, and a very pretty one. She embraced him with delight, then introduced him to, as she said, her dearest friend, Miss Jemima Luggala, who had been sitting gossiping with her.

As Jemima curtsied, Roger took in her tall figure and dark good looks with an appreciative eye, and thought what a pleasant contrast in colouring the two young beau­ties made. She at once offered to leave father and daughter together, but when it transpired she had been asked to luncheon, Roger said that of course she must stay, and invited himself to join them.

Having listened to particulars of Georgina's accident, Roger said that he would take an early opportunity of going down to Stillwaters to see her. To his great annoy­ance, Susan told him that she was not there, but with her old Duke at Newmarket. His annoyance was due to the fact that at Stillwaters he and Georgina would have been alone together, whereas at Newmarket the Duke's elderly

sister was in permanent residence, and the only time he had stayed there she had made things so unpleasant for Georgina and him that they had decided it would be better if he did not visit there again.

The time sped swiftly by as Roger told Susan about the new wife he had brought back with him, and how they had been carried off to America. And Susan told him about Charles having bought a commission and gone to Spain; although how he was faring she could not say, as it was a long time since she had had a letter from him.

They were joined at lunch by Great-Aunt Marsham, who had played the part of a mother to Susan during Georgina's absences from home, and was now acting as chaperone, so that Susan might continue to enjoy her nightly engagements during the London season. Over the meal he entertained them with accounts of the strange life led by Red Indians.

When he arrived back at Arlington House it was well on in the afternoon, and he found that Droopy Ned had returned earlier than expected. With him was his cousin, Judith Stanley, whose husband was with Wellington in Spain. She was staying in the house, and had accompanied Droopy down to Twickenham for the ball on the previous night.

Mary had been about to cross the hall as they came in at the front door, and had explained her presence to them a trifle nervously; but in a moment they had put her at her ease by their delight on hearing that Roger was safely home again, and that he had at last married an English girl as pretty and charming as herself.

She had already given them an outline of happenings to Roger and herself since they had left Sweden; but there was so much to tell that they talked on about the war with the United States and escaping across the St. Lawrence, with a break only while they changed for a late dinner. When the ladies had left the men at table, Droopy smiled across at Roger and said :

'Congratulations, m'dear. I find your little Mary charming, if a little shy. She may not have the devastatin' looks of your late lamented, but she's far more to my taste.'

' "Late lamented" does not apply to Lisala as far as I'm concerned,' Roger smiled back, 'despite the fact that I was responsible for her death and that of that brute, von Haugwitz—although without intent. The female form divine never harboured a more evil mind.'

Droopy nodded, 'You're right in that; and 'twas only by God's mercy that, when tried and condemned for their deaths, you got off with a ten-year prison sentence, then escaped.'

'I'm highly conscious of it, Ned. And nine years of that sentence, all but a few months, still stands against me did I get caught in Prussia. But that I'll never be. It's close on four years now since I formed the wish to go adventuring no more. I must have been out of my mind when I let patriotism get the better of my common sense, and allowed m'Lord Wellesley to talk me into accepting that mission to Prince Bernadotte. It involved me again in so many dangers.'

Droopy was one of the very limited number of people who knew about Roger's secret activities. Having told him how he had had to go from Sweden to Russia, then be­came involved in the retreat from Moscow, Roger added, 'But now, I vow, I'll ne'er set foot on the Continent again.'

'You honestly believe that your restless nature will allow you to settle down ?'

'I do. Admittedly, I found it difficult when I had the chance before and could spend happy hours with Geor­gina only infrequently. But now I have Mary, matters will be very different.'

'Did you know that poor Georgina was the victim of an accident from which she is now convalescing?'

'Yes. This day I took luncheon with Susan and learned of it from her. To my fury she told me that instead of going to Stillwaters, Georgina is at Newmarket.'

Droopy shrugged. 'She has ever kept the pact she made with old Kew when she married him—that, however she chose to amuse herself in private, she would maintain the outward appearance of being his good Duchess. To do that she must needs spend a fair part of the year at New­market; so doubtless, being temporarily incapacitated, she felt this a good opportunity to put in some weeks there.'

'Then I must resign myself to waiting a while before I have the joy of beholding her again. Now, Ned, what of the war? You ever have your ear to the ground, and I know no better source of reliable information.'

'The best news is that the new Coalition, which I gath­ered from m'Lord Wellesley you initiated by bringing Sweden and Russia together, has matured into a formidable combination. Both countries have since openly broken with Bonaparte and become our allies. In March Prussia also threw off the hated yoke, and made a fourth, sworn to putan end to French aggrandisement. The latest is that, on June 4th at Plaswitz, an armistice was agreed which is to last until July 20th.'

'Now that we again have allies on the Continent, I regard an armistice as deplorable. Napoleon's army hav­ing been so vastly weakened by his disaster in Russia, he should have been harassed without respite until totally defeated.'

'Maybe that could have been done had this new Co­alition been formed earlier; but, throughout the winter, all was sixes and sevens. In Poland and Prussia the utmost confusion reigned. There were still many thousands of French troops in those countries—enough at least for Prince Eugene, who was given command there, to form a formidable army and to continue maintaining garrisons in all the principal fortresses. On his right flank, Schwarzenberg defected and marched his Austrians home, and on his left flank von Yorck defied his King and took his Prussian Corps over to the Russians; but the Muscovites had been so weakened by their long pursuit of the French that it was mid-January before they had recruited their strength sufficiently even to cross the Vistula.

'Meanwhile, as you can well imagine, back in Paris Bonaparte had been far from idle. The reinforcements he sent to Eugene and St. Cyr enabled them to check the Russian offensive on the line of the Oder. It was nearly the end of February before King Frederick William plucked up the courage to sneak away from his French masters in Berlin and, having reached Breslau, disclose the fact that he had entered into an alliance with Russia and ourselves.'

'Every musket that can be turned against Napoleon is a help,' Roger remarked. 'But, unfortunately, Prussia is very far from being what she was in Frederick the Great's day. When Davout defeated them at Auerstadt, with the odds of three to one against him, and Napoleon chased them from the field at Jena, that took the heart out of their army. Then, by the treaty of Tilsit, the Czar and Napoleon between them brought the country near to ruin. They reduced her territory to four provinces and her population to a mere four and a half million.'

"Tis true she's been sadly crippled, but I'm told they are arming every man between the ages of sixteen and sixty, and that even women are volunteering.'

'I can well believe it. Two autumns ago their hatred against the French had already reached such a pitch that they were ripe for revolt. It was an anti-French riot by students that enabled me to escape from prison. It's on the cards that, now they've been given their heads, they'll fight as fanatically as the Spaniards.'

'I'm told, too, that in addition to von Yorck they have some good Generals.'

'Yes. Scharnhorst and Gneisenau are both most able men. There is also old Blucher. He is said to be a rough diamond with little education, but makes up for that by his fiery patriotism and fighting spirit. He is a veteran whom his men would follow anywhere.'

'Scharnhorst is no more. He was killed in Silesia.'

'That is bad.'

'He lost his life in one of the first clashes with the Prus­sians that occurred after Bonaparte arrived to take com­mand of the French forces in person.'

'When was that?'

'Toward the end of April. He had mustered two armies, one commanded by Ney on the lower Main, and another by Eugene on the middle Elbe. They concentrated under him between Halle and Jena, then advanced on Leipzig. At that point he was greatly superior to the Russians and Prussians, having two hundred thousand men against their eighty thousand; and, at a place called Gross-Gorschen, near Lutzen, he inflicted a severe defeat on them.'

Roger sighed. 'It seems that other Generals stand little chance against his genius. Somehow he always succeeds in forming these concentrations against inferior forces at exactly the right place and time. What then?'

'Bonaparte passed on swiftly to Dresden, while Ney pushed back the Prussians under von Bulow. The allies withdrew behind the Spree to Bautzen and there, on high ground, made a stand. But you are so right, Roger. The Devil himself must inspire that Corsican brigand. The allies mustered only one hundred and ten thousand men. He attacked their centre himself with one hundred and twenty thousand, brought Ney up on the right with another eighty-five thousand, and still had Davout with thirty thousand more on the Elbe. Fortunately, he lost so many thousands of horses in Russia that he is still very weak in cavalry; whereas the allies are strong. It was that alone that saved them from complete defeat.'

'The picture is much worse than I had supposed,' Roger said glumly, 'and I see now why the allies agreed to an armistice.'

'It could prove of advantage to either side. The levies Bonaparte is calling up from France, Italy and Illyria will be reaching him in greater numbers, and the veterans he is recalling from Spain. On the other hand, further divi­sions are on their way from Russia; and, about a fortnight since, Prince Bernadotte landed in Stralsund with a Swedish Army of twenty-four thousand men, which has not yet been in action. But bringing about the armistice was mainly due to Prince Metternich.'

'Is Austria still allied to France?'

'Nay, she has become neutral, and the Prince is playing a most skilful game. He is greatly averse to Bonaparte continuing to dominate Europe, and equally so to Russia becoming more powerful. In the hope of preventing either, he is now acting as mediator, and hopes to bring about a permanent peace. Meanwhile, he is rebuilding the Austrian Army into so powerful a force that, if flung in on either side, it could prove the deciding factor.'

Roger nodded. 'With the one exception of my old friend, Talleyrand, I count him the cleverest diplomat of our age. Have you any idea what his proposals are for converting this armistice into a permanent peace?'

"Yes. I had them from m'Lord Castlereagh himself. The price Metternich is demanding of Bonaparte for Austria not joining the allies is that both the Grand Duchy of Warsaw and the Confederation of the Rhine, created by him as vassal states, should be abolished, the re-estab­lishment of the Free Hanse Towns, the return to Prussia of the territories of which she has been robbed since 1805, and the return to Austria of her Illyrian provinces. Know­ing the Corsican so well, Roger, think you he will agree?'

Roger helped himself to another glass of port before replying:

'I would were I in his shoes, Ned, for those conditions are not unreasonable. He would be left with a France considerably larger than when the Bourbons ruled it, Holland, Switzerland, the Belgian lands and the greater part of Italy; After twenty-odd years of war, France has been bled white, and I'd wager any money that her people would gladly give up every conquest the Emperor has ever made, if only he would give them peace. Spain has long been a running sore and, as I learned from Susan this noon when she told me young Charles is now there, the Duke is besting in turn every Marshal sent against him.

'Yet I greatly doubt if the Emperor will accept Metternich's terms. The devil of it is that these past few years he has become the victim of folie de grandeur. He'll no longer listen to the wise counsel of his old friends, and counts himself omnipotent. He will persuade himself that, as he has an Austrian Princess for wife, his father-in-law can be counted on to hold Metternich back and that then, with only the Russians, Prussians and Swedes against him, he'll be able to perform another miracle.'

'I pray God he doesn't,' Droopy said soberly. 'England

needs peace near as badly as France. His damnable Con­tinental System has brought thousands of our merchants to ruin. Yet, whatever happens, we must see it through to the end. If only Austria would come in before the winter, we might hope for final victory.'

Roger raised his glass. 'Let's drink to that. But I've now played my part and, victory or defeat, I'll not be there to see it.'

12

Seen in a Crystal

On the Monday morning, while Judith took Mary shop­ping, Roger borrowed a mount and rode down to Rich­mond. For many years, during his long absences abroad, old Dan Izzard had acted for him as the faithful custodian of Thatched House Lodge; and eighteen months earlier, as he had not expected his mission to Sweden to take more than eight to ten weeks, he had kept on Mrs. Muffet, his cook-housekeeper and one maid, arranging for them to be paid by Hoare's Bank while he was away.

He found them all well, and happy to see him again after so long. Everything was in good order, the reception rooms needed only the removal of the covers from the fur­niture, and the garden was a blaze of flowers. Well pleased, he informed them of his marriage, and told Mrs. Muffet to engage two extra maids, then he sat down to write a letter to Georgina.

In it, having condoled with her about her accident, he told her that a strange twist of fate had enabled him to take her advice and many Mary; that he would tell her when they met of the unexpected happenings that had kept him abroad for so long and, with all the eagerness he would have felt had he been twenty years younger, he prayed that might be soon. He begged her, if she must yet remain unable to re-enter society for a few weeks, to re­move forthwith to Stillwaters, or to her petite maison in Kensington, so that, 'by the world forgotten and the world forgot', they might glory once again in being alone together.

Giving Dan a handful of guineas, he sent him off with the letter to Newmarket, charging him to give it into Her Grace's own hand.

On his return to London, he told Mary that he had found everything at Thatched House Lodge in good shape, and the memory of how delightful she had thought it on the one brief occasion that she had been there made her eager to move at once into her new home. But Roger said they must give Mrs. Muffet a few days to install two more maids, and Droopy and Judith both pressed them to stay on at Amesbury House for at least a week, so it was agreed that they should not move down to Richmond until the following Monday.

The week in London gave Roger the opportunity to present Susan to Mary, to introduce her to a number of his friends, to give Lord Castlereagh an account of the situation in America, and to resume his acquaintance with many of his fellow members at White's. On the Thursday, Droopy gave a soiree to enable Mary to meet many lead­ing members of society and soon afterwards invitations to numerous functions began to come in. It was, too, on Thursday morning that Dan arrived with a letter from Georgina in reply to Roger's.

Having expressed her unbounded delight at his safe return, she went on, 'Recalling what you told me of your Mary, after your affair with her in Lisbon, I am certain you have been wise to make her your wife, for there is no change in the condition of my poor old Duke. It seems that he was blessed—or rather, now, cursed—with an iron constitution, and the doctors say that, although since his stroke he has become no more than a vegetable, he may yet survive for many years; so clearly Fate decreed that we should never marry. But, Roger my love, unfaithful as we have ever been to our spouses, in this new situation we must use the utmost discretion. Mary must never be given cause to suspect that we are more to each other than life­long friends. I will remove to Stillwaters in ten days or so, in order that we may again rejoice in being under one roof; but no more than that. You must bring her with you, and I suggest for a long week-end from Friday, July 2nd until the Monday or Tuesday; as it would be unreason­able to ask her to leave her new home for longer until she has been in it for the best part of a fortnight. Later in the month I will come to London. No doubt to discuss some affair of State, or a punch-drinking with your men cronies will also necessitate your spending a night or two in the capital, and then! then! then! Roger, my own, we'll roll back the sheets, and with them the years.'

The letter went on to tell of her accident, of Susan and the numerous beaux whom she enjoyed pursuing her while Charles was in Spain, and ended by saying that the news that Roger was safely back in England had been like a draught of the Elixir of Life to her.

Despite Roger's impatience to hold her in his arms again, he was well pleased with her letter. Over the years, the long periods they had had to spend apart had armoured them both against any feeling of jealousy con­cerning their relations with others; nevertheless, he was touched by this evidence that Georgina's mind was still so closely attuned to his own, in her determination to protect Mary from unhappiness.

On the Monday afternoon Mary could hardly contain her delight when Roger took her over Thatched House Lodge, and she unpacked her things in the best bedroom.

During the ten days that followed, they went several times to balls and routs in London, returned tired but happy in the early hours of the morning. Then, on July 2nd, they drove down to Stillwaters.

When Roger had told her of the invitation and that he had accepted it, she had been far from happy at the idea of leaving her new home even for a week-end. But she had not shown it, for Roger had often spoken to her of Georgina, as his boyhood sweetheart before he had pin away to France, and his friend of a life-time, so she did not pro­test at his being eager to see her again.

As Roger had expected, the meeting of the two ladies proved most pleasant. Georgina told him later that she thought Mary pretty enough to please most men, and with an intelligence and sense of humour much exceeding the majority of her sex; while Mary said to him of Geor­gina that her graciousness was surpassed only by her beauty, and it seemed impossible to believe that she was over forty.

Susan had come down for the week-end, bringing Jemima with her and, to entertain the two girls, Georgina had invited their latest beaux: the Honourable Ivor Tavistock and Captain Hercules Hunt, so they formed a merry party. Roger had long since warned Mary always to give out that they had met again in Copenhagen and make no mention of their terrible experiences in Russia, as he had then been on Napoleon's Staff, and that would have taxed even his ingenuity to explain; but during the evening they told of their adventures while in America, and Captain Hunt discoursed at some length on the war in Spain.

For some days past the Peninsula had again become a principal topic of conversation, because on June 21st the Duke of Wellington had achieved an outstanding victory.

At Vittoria he had inflicted a crushing defeat on King Joseph and was now said to be pursuing the remnants of the French army, with a view to driving it over the Pyrenees.

On the Saturday morning all the young people went riding, but Georgina, although now recovered from her injuries, said she did not feel inclined to ride again yet and Roger, delighted at the prospect of getting an hour or two alone with her, said he would remain to keep her company.

Highly conscious that if they remained in the house together, she might be persuaded by Roger to let him make love to her, and determined to take no risks, Geor­gina promptly announced that, as it was a lovely day, they would take a walk round the garden. Knowing very well what was in her mind, Roger gave a wry grin and agreed.

As they strolled along arm in arm, he was able to tell her how he had really met Mary again in St. Petersburg, and of their ordeals during the retreat. When he had ended with their escape to Sweden, Georgina said:

'What you tell me of her courage and unfailing good humour in such circumstances makes me more certain than ever that you were right to marry her. It is your nature, dear one, that you must ever have constant excite­ment or congenial companionship. That became all too evident during those last eight months you spent in England. It was our tragedy that, believing you to be dead and not caring what became of me, I should have allowed old Kew to persuade me to marry him. But, once his Duchess, I had to abide by the conditions I had myself made—to be his wife only in name, but to take no lover openly. That meant our never being together for more than a few nights in succession, and that oft with weeks between. I could not wonder at your becoming bored and miserable. But now you will have little Mary, and we can still snatch ...'

Pressing the hand that rested on his arm, he interrupted impatiently, 'But when, my sweet, when?'

She considered for a moment. 'It would be wiser if you did not take your first night away from Mary too soon; so I'll not come up to London until after next week-end. Let us make it Wednesday, the 14th. Gome to the studio at seven o'clock that evening. Harriet married last autumn, so be not surprised when a new maid lets you in. Her name is Jane. She is devoted to me, and so is entirely trustworthy.'

'Twelve more days to wait,' Roger sighed. 'I can hardly bear it. But you are right. For Mary's sake we must not rush our fences; and now, at last, I'll not be tempted to leave England ever again.'

Entering a big, domed glass house, they walked to the far end. Inside were growing palms, orchids and tropical creepers with great leaves that would prevent anyone passing outside from seeing them. He took her in his arms and pressed her to him. After several long, sweet kisses she suddenly broke away from him and exclaimed breath­lessly :

'No, Roger, no! Lud, how I long for you! But desist, I beg. I'll trust neither you nor myself if you go further. Take me out of here.'

As they left the hothouse, both of them were trembling, and he said, 'To be with you again after all these months, yet unable to possess you will drive me crazy. So I'll make some excuse to take Mary home on Monday, instead of Tuesday as we planned.'

She nodded. 'Yes, that would be best, for I feel the same.'

Back at Richmond he resumed with Mary the pleasant life they had been leading before their visit to Stillwaters. The following Sunday he mentioned casually that he would be from home on the coming Wednesday night, to attend a gathering at a club of which he had long been a member, and where he would again meet old friends he had not seen since his return.

Having never before moved in London society, Mary was unaware that such men's drinking clubs were a fea­ture of it; so when he was about to mount his horse on the Wednesday afternoon, her kiss was a little cold as she wished him a merry evening.

Having stabled his horse at Amesbury House and spent a pleasant hour with Droopy Ned, Roger took a coach out to Georgina's villa-studio which stood on the rise north of Kensington village. Her new maid, Jane, proved to be a buxom wench with a merry smile and red-gold hair.

An adept at making himself agreeable to servants, when she opened the door to him he said with a laugh, 'M'dear, your hair is the same colour as my money.' Taking a guinea from his breeches pocket, he held it up against her nearest ringlet, then pressed it into her palm and kissed her lightly on her rosy cheek. Blushing with pleasure, she ushered him into her mistress.

Georgina, as ravishing as ever, her black curls tied back with a broad red ribbon and clad only in a silk chamber robe, was reclining on a sofa. Jane had barely left the room before Roger was kneeling beside her, smothering her face with kisses, inhaling the special, delicious scent she used only for their secret meetings, and with eager hands exploring for the thousandth time the hidden glories of her lovely person.

As they had so often done before, when Roger had changed into a chamber robe she kept there for him, they feasted off pate, lobsters, glazed duck garnished with red cherries, and nectarines, washed these good things down with goblets of champagne, teased each other, recalled old times and laughed until they cried. Then, at length, he picked her up and carried her into the next room, where Jane had already turned down for them the black silk sheets of the big bed.

Alternately they made ecstatic love and dozed, em­braced, until the morning. At eleven o'clock Georgina rang for Jane, who brought them a freshly opened bottle of champagne and iced melon. After they had break­fasted, Roger reluctantly began to dress. As he tied his cravat before the mirror, he said:

'What would I not give to be able to spend the day and yet another night here, as I have oft done in the past.'

Georgina yawned, then replied with a smile, 'Yes, to be out of the world together for two or three days at a stretch was truly heaven; but, until Mary has become more used to your absenting yourself, we must make do with single nights.'

'That's a sound reason why we should not too long delay our next.'

'I think we should restrain our impatience for ten days at least.'

Turning, he shook his head, 'Nay, sweet. 'Tis already July 15th. Come the end of the month the season will be over. In August London will be as empty as a drum, pro­viding no possible excuse for you to come up from New­market. Before the calendar imposes on us eight weeks or more of abstinence, we must indulge ourselves again at least twice.'

'To start with, weekly meetings were more than I intended. Yet, with the desolate weeks at Newmarket to be faced, I've not the strength of will to refuse you. Hav­ing but recently returned after so long an absence, Mary should not regard it as unreasonable if you wish to attend the last two meetings of this club you've told her of before everyone leaves town.'

Thus the matter was agreed, and on the evening of Wednesday, the 21st, Roger was again admitted by pretty Jane to his earthly paradise.

During the past week, memories of the previous Wed­nesday night had been so frequently in his mind that, if possible, he was more eager than ever to have Georgina in his arms, and she received him with equal fervour.

Again they feasted, laughed, loved and drank the night away until, as daylight was showing between the chinks of the curtains, satiated, blissfully happy and without a care in the world, they fell asleep.

It was about an hour later when Roger was roused by Georgina crying out in her sleep. 'O God! No! No! No!'

To wake her from her nightmare, he put a hand on her shoulder and gently shook her. With a start she sat up, covered her face with her hands and sobbed through them in agonised tones, 'No, no! It can't be true! Oh, God, please don't let it be true.'

Roger threw his arm about her shoulders, drew her to him and asked anxiously, 'What is it, my sweet? Please! You'll be all right in a moment. You've only had a horrid dream.'

As she took her hands from her face, he saw that her great eyes were brimming with tears. She shook her head and the tears ran down her cheeks as she sobbed:

'It was Charles. He was riding through a wood with half a dozen other mounted men. Suddenly they were fired upon. They had run into an ambush. Charles and his men broke into a gallop. One of them was hit and fell from his horse. The others got away—except for Charles. His horse was shot under him. A score of French soldiers

ran out of the wood. Charles had scrambled to his knees. They seized him and hauled him to his feet. He .. he's been taken prisoner.'

Frowning, Roger strove to comfort her. 'Beloved, it was only a dream. Nothing but a dream. You've been worry­ing about him too much.'

Swallowing hard, she said hoarsely, 'Yes, a dream; but a true dream. It was in colour. Oh, what will happen to my darling boy?'

Roger knew of old the psychic powers Georgina had inherited from her gipsy mother, so he feared she was right and did not argue with her. Instead he said:

'There are worse things than being captured. At least for a few months, until it can be arranged for him to be exchanged for a French officer of equivalent rank, he'll be in no danger of being killed or wounded. And as an officer he will receive decent treatment.'

'Perhaps. I can only pray that it will be so. But by some accounts the French have become savages. I must find out. I must find out what the future holds for him.'

As she spoke, Georgina scrambled out of bed, went to a bureau, took her crystal from a drawer in it, put it on a small table nearby and, sitting down, riveted her gaze on the globe. For several minutes she was silent, then she murmured:

'I can see him. He looks well, except that there is a bandage round his hand. I see him again. This is much later, and he has grown a beard. I think he is in a castle. But not in a dungeon. There is plenty of light. He is with other officers, but their uniforms do not look like those of Englishmen. Some of them are playing cards. Charles is laughing. How strange that I should have a son old enough to grow a beard.'

As she sat at the table she was still naked. Now that

Roger could believe that Charles would be safe and well cared for, he allowed his mind to dwell on her beauty. She was sitting in profile to him, her dark ringlets falling to her shoulders and hiding her face, except for the corner of an eyebrow, thick, curling black lashes, well-modelled nose and one side of her very full, red-lipped mouth. As she leaned forward, her breasts rested on the edge of the table, an upturned nipple protruded from the semi-circle of brown corona. Below the table, her powerful hips tapered to smoothly-rounded knees then, drawn back beneath them, perfect calves, slim ankles and arched feet.

She had remained silent for several moments. Suddenly she gave a gasp of horror, thrust the table violently from her so that the crystal rolled across the carpet, jerked her­self erect, gave a piercing scream and fell in a dead faint on the floor.

Leaping out of bed, Roger seized her shoulders and cradled her head in his arms. Jane came running in, her mouth agape. Together they got Georgina back into bed. Roger sent Jane for brandy, and forced Georgina to swal­low a little of the spirit. She began to moan, then opened her eyes and looked desperately about her.

'What did you see, my poor sweet?' Roger asked her frantically. 'Tell me! Tell me! What did you see?'

She groaned again. 'They . . . they're going to hang him. He ... he was standing beneath ... beneath a tree. It was in a long avenue. There were . . . French soldiers round him. They . . . Oh God! ... his hands were tied behind him and . .. and they were just about to put the noose of a rope round the neck of a comrade standing near him.'

Roger signed to Jane to leave them, then took both Georgina's hands and said firmly, 'Light of my life, I do not believe one word of this. The whole thing is a fantasy.'

'But I saw it! I saw it. And my crystal never lies to me. Remember how in the autumn of 1809 I saw you with a pastor in a cell for the condemned. We persuaded our­selves it was a glimpse of the past, when you were in Guild­ford gaol. But it was not. I was seeing you many months later, after you were tried for murder in Berlin.'

'True, but I was reprieved. And this vision of yours lacks all credulity. Charles is an officer, and officers condemned to death are shot. They are never hanged.'

'Roger, I saw it as clearly as I see you now. That avenue of tall trees and Charles standing among their fallen leaves with . . . with other prisoners who were already hanging from the branches of the trees.'

'It would then be in the autumn.'

'Yes, yes, it was autumn. 'Twas this morning he was captured. Of that I'm certain. But in a few months' time he ... he'll do something ... then ... oh, is there nothing we can do to save him ?'

As her big eyes, misty with tears, stared into Roger's, he knew what she was thinking. He knew, too, that she would not ask it of him; but there was something that could be done, and he was the only man in England who might be able to do it.

On the Continent, wherever France's writ ran, he was Colonel Comte de Breuc, a Commander of the Legion of Honour and an A.D.C. to the Emperor. He had for years formed one of Napoleon's intimate circle, and a single prisoner would mean nothing to a man whose prison camps held many, many thousands. He had only to go to the Emperor and ask for an order for Charles's release, and he had not the least doubt that it would be given him.

Through Roger's mind raced distressing thoughts of what such a commitment would entail. He had vowed never again to leave England until the war was over. His desperate craving to be done with risks and to lead a life of ease must go by the board. Once more he must face the chance that he would be found out to be an English secret agent. But that was not all. There was Mary. She had been settled into her new home barely a month. Must the man she loved so devotedly be snatched from her, and her happiness be turned for many weeks into miserable anxiety at the thought that she might have lost him for good?

It was not as though he could hope to accomplish such a mission in a fortnight by a swift crossing of the Channel and return. The Emperor was in Germany and Charles in Spain. To reach northern Germany, ride all the way across the Rhineland through France, find Charles, secure his release, then get home, could easily take two months.

But wait! Was it necessary to go to the Emperor? No. Roger knew King Joseph well, and Napoleon's eldest brother was a kindly man. It was men of his army who had captured Charles, and he could easily be persuaded to give an order for the boy's release. To go direct to Spain would save a month or more. And time was important, for any unforeseen delay in the much longer journey could mean not reaching Spain until the autumn, and perhaps too late.

Roger had as good as made up his mind that he must inflict a month or so of misery on poor little Mary when another thought struck him. If Georgina's vision had been a true one, no order for Charles's release could prevent his standing beneath a tree about to be hanged. In that case, any attempt to save him must prove, as near as made no odds, futile.

Again his thoughts raced furiously. Himself apart, Georgina loved her son more than anyone in the world. How could he possibly tell her that, unless the crystal had misled her, there was no hope for him ? Besides, while there is life, there is always hope. She had not seen Charles hanging, only about to be hanged. It might be that his captors were only threatening him with death as a means of wringing some information from him. That was a pos­sibility as slender as a gossamer thread. On such a chance to shatter poor little Mary's happiness and resume the dangerous game that, with fantastic good fortune, he had survived for so long was, when regarded cooly, sheer madness.

But wait! Perhaps Georgina's vision had been sent her as a warning—a warning of a fate likely to overtake Charles unless some action was taken to prevent it. There had been many instances of people who had appeared to stand no hope whatever of escaping execution, yet had been saved from death by some quite unexpected inter­vention. All forecasts of future events were, Roger knew, no more than probable indications of the course fate would take. None were inevitable.

With sudden resolution he took Georgina's hands firmly in his and said:

'I will go to Spain and spare no effort in an attempt to save him.'

13

To Go, or not to Go

It was with a heavy heart that Roger rode home that afternoon, to face Mary and tell her of the scurvy trick fate had played them. Anxiously he wondered how she would take the news that he must leave her. Very badly, he was certain, and he was terribly distressed at the thought of the grief he must inflict on her.

He was also grimly conscious of his own misfortune. Gone was the future to which he had looked forward for so long: to leading the life of a well-to-do gentleman of leisure, mingling with high society at gay balls and routs, frequenting the most exclusive clubs and discussing there with the best informed men of the day the latest news from courts and camps, pleasant visits to Brighton and big country houses, sleeping always in comfortable beds, hear­ing Mary's merry laughter daily, having Susan and Droopy to stay and, as a priceless spice to life, from time to time renewing his youth by revelling in a hectic night with his beloved Georgina.

Instead, he was doomed, for a time at least, to a renewal of the hard and dangerous existence he had led for so long. He knew from bitter past experience how easy it was, once on the Continent as Colonel Comte de Breuc, to become involved in hazardous undertakings. They could lead to having to spend days on end in the saddle until he was half-dead from exhaustion, to sleeping wrapped in a cloak on the hard ground, to coming unexpectedly face to face with someone who knew him to be an Englishman and who might denounce him as a spy; or, once again, having to gallop through smoke and musket balls carrying orders from Napoleon during one of his battles and fearing every moment to be killed or maimed for life.

But Mary was his immediate worry. In vain he had racked his brain for a way to soften the blow, but there was no avoiding having to deliver it. However, on one aspect of the matter his mind was made up. In no circum­stances must she be allowed to know that it was for Georgina's sake that he was leaving her. And, fortunately, he thought he had the means of preventing her suspecting that.

Following a procedure he had decided upon during his ride from London, when Mary ran out of the house to greet him as he crossed the garden from the stable yard, he gave her only a pale smile and kissed her in a slightly off-handed manner. When she asked him how he had enjoyed his dinner the previous night, he replied, 'Oh, well enough,' then said that after freshening himself up he had some letters he must write.

Although he did not put pen to paper, he remained in his small library until the gong sounded for dinner, moodily contemplating the distressing task before him. Over the meal he appeared distrait and answered Mary's questions only very briefly. She waited until the parlour­maid had put the dessert on the table and left the room. Then she asked with deep concern:

'Roger, whatever ails you? I've never known you like this. Are you in some trouble ?'

Beginning to peel a peach, he replied, 'I am not, but someone very dear to me is and, alas, it entails great unhappiness for both of us.'

'For us? But why, and in what way?'

'Because, my dearest, I'll have to leave you for a while.'

Mary's mouth dropped open and she exclaimed, 'Leave me! Oh, no! You cannot mean it.'

‘I do. I hope not to be absent for more than a few weeks, but I have to go abroad again.'

'Abroad!' Mary gulped, then her eyes became angry. 'Roger! When we sailed from Sweden, you swore to me that you would never accept another mission. Yet you must have. And we've been living for scarce a month the life I've dreamed of. Oh, how could you? How could you?'

' 'Tis not a mission. I mean, this is no matter of going to the Continent again as a secret agent. It is a personal affair. Young Charles St. Ermins has been taken prisoner.'

Mary lowered her eyes. 'I am indeed sorry to hear that. But I do not see what you can do about it.'

'Joseph Bonaparte, as King of Spain, is the titular com­mander of the army there so it was his troops that cap­tured Charles. I have known the King well for many years. I have no doubt whatever that I can obtain from him an order for Charles's release.'

Again Mary's glance was angry. 'As an officer he will be well treated, and in due course an exchange will be arranged for him. At best you could only spare him the inconvenience of a few additional weeks in captivity. And anyway, why should you go there on his account?'

'Because, Mary, he is my son.'

'Your son! You mean that he has no real right to the Earldom? That you fathered him upon Georgina?'

For a moment Roger was tempted to accept the con­clusion to which she had jumped, as it would have strengthened his case for going to Charles's assistance. But swiftly he realised the danger of acknowledging this tie with Georgina.

'No, no,' he shook his head. 'I mean only that Charles is the nearest thing to a son I've ever had. As you know, he and Susan were brought up together by Georgina, so I have always looked on both of them as my children.'

The nearest thing to a sneer that Roger had ever seen on Mary's face crossed it for a moment, then she snapped, 'So you think of yourself as his father! A fine father I must say! Why, it will be near three years since you even saw the boy. And when you were last in England for any length of time, he was for most of it at Eton. Did you come face to face with him in a street tomorrow, I doubt me if you'd know him.'

" Roger sighed. 'Mary my love, what you say is true enough. Yet I feel this to be a duty I cannot shirk.'

'You mean you learned this from Georgina and have given way to her pleading that you should desert me to go in search of the son she so dotes upon?'

'Georgina does not enter into this.'

'Oh, but she does! Your story to me that she has been your lifelong friend is true enough. But there is more to it than that. Do you suppose there are no malicious tongues among the society women with whom I have become acquainted during this past month? Several of them have been at pains to inform me that Georgina was your mis­tress for many years, and sweetly congratulated me on having supplanted her in your affections.'

'That we were lovers when young I'll not deny,' Roger replied smoothly. 'But that is a long time ago. Not one of those scandalmongering jades could provide a tittle of evidence that I've been aught to Georgina between her marriages but a frequent escort when in London.'

'Yet you must have been with her at some time during the past twenty-four hours. How else could you have learnt that Charles is a prisoner ?'

Roger had agreed with Georgina that, to make certain the news about Charles did not get to Susan's ears and cause her great distress, she should tell no-one of her dream or vision in the crystal. So he was able to reply:

‘I learnt it last night from the Minister of War, who made one of our party. Charles's capture was mentioned in a despatch he had received that morning from His Grace of Wellington. Knowing my connection with the boy, he told me of it, but he'll not make it public, in order to spare Georgina the anxiety she would feel.'

The plausible lie temporarily stilled Mary's suspicions, but she continued to argue that she had a bigger claim on him than Charles, and to plead with him to forgo his inten­tion of going to Spain.

He had assumed she would be tearful but submissive, so her persistence, added to her unexpected suspicions about Georgina, annoyed him. Sorry as he was for her, and the more so from knowing that he was making her unhappy to undertake a journey that might very well prove futile', he was not the man to change his mind once he had made it up, let alone go back on his word to Georgina. At length, pushing back his chair, he said:

'M'dear. When we first met in Lisbon I told you that, being near twice your age, I was too set in my habits to change them. I have never yet allowed a woman to inter­fere with any project I have set my mind upon. I can only say that since I love you very dearly, I will return to you as soon as possible.'

Thereupon Mary burst into tears. But he ignored her, left the table and walked from the room.

She did not join him in the library, and he spent the next few hours putting his affairs in order. By the time he had finished, he had decided that the only way to ensure against Mary making further trouble in future, when she disapproved of his arrangements, was to teach her a sharp lesson. So, when he went upstairs, instead of going to their bedroom he went to his dressing room and slept the night there.

He had hoped she would come to him and seek a re­conciliation; but as she had not he was in no mind, when he went downstairs in the morning, to take the first step himself. She did not join him for breakfast, so when he had finished he sent for her maid, and said :

'As Her Ladyship is still up in her room, I assume she is feeling indisposed. Be good enough to tell her that I shall shortly be leaving for London, but expect to return in time for dinner.'

To his surprise the girl faltered, 'But Her Ladyship is not there, Sir. She got up early, ordered the coach and left an hour since. I... I thought you knew.'

With difficulty concealing the anger he felt at having to show ignorance of his wife's plans, he asked, 'Did she say where she was going, and what time she is likely to be back?'

'No, Sir. But she had me pack a small night bag to take with her.'

Dismissing the girl with a nod, Roger poured himself another cup of coffee, then sat back to consider this un­expected development. Mary had clearly taken the bit between her teeth, but where the devil was she on her way to? She had no relatives with whom she could stay while endeavouring to bring him to heel, and no money of her own. He had started to make her a generous monthly allowance, but she could not have put aside out of the first instalment sufficient to keep herself for any length of time.

During the past few weeks she had made a number of acquaintances, but was not yet intimate enough with any of them to ask them to put her up—except Droopy Ned. Yes, that was probably the answer. She had gone off to pour out her trouble to him.

Roger had meant to look in on Droopy that day and, as he had no secrets from this best of friends, tell him that he was going to Spain, and why. Now he decided against doing so, for he had no intention of letting Mary think he had come hot-foot after her.

Half an hour later he was on his way to London, and by mid-morning at the Admiralty, where he sent up his card to the First Sea Lord, an acquaintance of long stand­ing, who was one of the comparatively few people who knew of his past activities as a secret agent.

After a short wait, the Admiral saw him and they talk­ed for ten minutes or more about Roger's experiences in Russia and America, then he said, 'My Lord, I am anxious to get to Spain as soon as possible. I must not conceal it from you that this is on private business; but if you could help me I'd be deuced grateful.'

The old sailor smiled. 'Having in mind your past ser­vices to the nation, Mr. Brook, we'd be mightily ungrate­ful if we couldn't stretch a point for you. The frigate Pompey, Captain Durrant, will be sailing from Greenwich three days hence. You're welcome to a passage aboard her, and I'll notify her commander accordingly.'

Well pleased, Roger made his way to White's Club. As he hung his beaver on a peg in the inner hall, it crossed his mind how manners and fashions had changed since he had first become a member. Then, all the hats had been tricornes and many edged with gold lace. Now, they were all toppers of various colours, some, like his own, rough-surfaced, others of smooth, shining silk.

At the far end of the billiard room he found Droopy, playing backgammon. He peered at Roger with his short­sighted eyes, then greeted him cheerfully, but said noth­ing of Mary. As soon as the game had ended, Roger drew him aside and asked if she was at Amesbury House.

'No,' replied Droopy in some surprise. 'At least she was not there when I left an hour agone. Why, think you she might be ?'

Over a decanter of Madeira, Roger told him what had occurred. After a moment's thought, Droopy said, "Tis plaguey hard upon you both, though she will be the greater sufferer. Loath as you are to go abroad again, at least you'll be fully occupied, whereas poor Mary will have naught to do but wait and pray. Wherever she is gone, since she has little money she'll not remain away from home for long; and, when she does return, you must not upbraid her for this display of temperament, for 'tis love for you that is the cause of it.'

'You're right, Ned. And it troubles me mightily to have to inflict this pain upon her. Yet how could I possibly leave Georgina without a single hope ?'

'In view of what you have always been to each other, you could not. To that I agree. Yet, if her vision be a true one, your hope of saving Charles is no better than that an angel should appear at the critical moment when the rope is put about his neck.'

'Dam'me, I know it! And my wrath at being forced into undertaking a mission so likely to be foredoomed to failure is exceeded only by my sorrow that it seems the boy is fated to die. Although I've done little, other than buy him presents when a child and later teach him enough of sword play to make him a dangerous antagonist. I've loved him both as my sweet Georgina's son and for himself.'

Droopy nodded. ‘I, too, will share Georgina's grief and yours. Since he could toddle, I have ever been his "dear Uncle Ned". Indeed, over the years I have seen much more of him than yourself, and he was fast becoming a man of whom we could all be proud.'

In due course, Roger accompanied Droopy back to Amesbury House, to make certain that Mary had not arrived there while they had been at White's. Then Roger rode back to Richmond.

Half an hour after he reached home, he heard his coach drive up to the front door. Hurrying to it, he met Mary on the doorstep. Holding out both his hands to her, he said with a smile:

'Mary, my love, wherever have you been ? Your driving off without a word to me this morning, and taking a night bag with you caused me great concern.'

She returned his smile. 'For that I'm sorry. But this was an occasion when I felt that I, for once, must under­take a mission.'

He frowned. ‘I trust it was successful.. . but I do not understand. And why did you take a night bag ?'

'Because I thought I might be asked to stay the night. And it was successful. You need not now go to Spain.'

'What the devil are you talking about?'

Taking a letter from her reticule, she handed it to him. He saw Georgina's crest on the envelope. With a sudden frown, he ripped it open and read :

'Dear Roger,

'Mary tells me that Charles has been taken prisoner and that, having learned of this, it is your intention to proceed to Spain in the hope of obtaining his release. Naturally, this news greatly pains me and I feel sure that it was realising how much it would do so when I heard it that prompted your generous intent. But though I’d derive great comfort from knowing that you were going to Charles's assistance, I cannot allow it. I have no doubt that His Grace of Wellington will speedily arrange for his exchange; and the anxiety you would inflict on Mary by leaving her could not possibly be justified in order to spare the boy a few extra weeks of captivity. 'Ever your loving friend,

'Georgina.’

As he finished reading, Mary said, 'I thought her to be at Stillwaters, so drove down there this morning, only to be told that she left for London the day before yesterday and..’

'And her letter makes it obvious that when you found her at Kew House you told her about Charles.'

'Of course. It was to do so that I sought her out.'

Roger had told Mary that the news of Charles's capture was to be kept secret, in order to spare Georgina. Her letter showed that she had kept to their agreement to speak of it to no-one, so that Susan should not learn of it. Coldly, he said:

'Did it not occur to you that telling Georgina would cause her great grief and anxiety ?'

'Well... yes,' Mary faltered. 'But to appeal to her was my only hope of preventing you from leaving me.'

Obviously Georgina had said nothing to Mary of her vision in the crystal, and to write that letter, foregoing the one possible chance of saving her son must have cost her dear. Yet it was typical of the generous and courageous spirit that Roger loved in her. Slowly he tore the letter across, again and again, let the pieces flutter to the ground, and said harshly:

'Madame, your callous act has failed to achieve its purpose. I do not take orders from Georgina. For your information, in three days' time I am sailing for Spain.'

Then he turned his back on Mary and strode into the house.

An hour later, her eyes red from weeping, she came down for dinner. As Roger did not appear, she thought he must have failed to hear the gong, so told the parlour­maid to sound it again. For the second time that day the girl showed surprise, then faltered:

'Did you not know, m'lady? The master ordered his horse and half an hour since rode away.'

When Roger reached London he still felt very bitter about Mary; for he considered she had betrayed his trust and taken a step which, had his beloved Georgina not already known about Charles, would have caused her great grief. Within a few minutes of entering Kew House he had even greater reason for his anger. Georgina was in her boudoir and, as the door closed behind the footman who had shown him up to her, she said:

'I take it you have had my letter?'

He nodded. 'Yes; it is about that I am come.'

'So I imagined. I hope you have given that wife of yours a beating for the damage she has done.'

'A callous act, yes; but damage, no. You already knew about Charles.'

'Certainly. But Susan did not, and she was with me when the little fool blurted out about your going to Spain, and the reason for it.'

'What?' Roger roared.

'Yes; and it was for her sake we agreed to keep the matter secret. The poor child was distraught. Driven frantic. Naturally, she still knows nothing of my vision, but she imagines Charles to be in some noisome cell living on meagre prison fare. I had a terrible hour with her. She is now in bed, sleeping I trust, for I gave her a potent draught;'

'Hell's bells! Mary told me naught of this. To show my disapproval of her conduct, I left the house without telling her I was riding up to London, but I had intended to return tonight. Now, devil take me, for this I'll leave her to stew until I return from Spain.'

'But, Roger, you had my letter. And what I said in it I meant. How could I refrain from taking pity on her? 'Tis true that she was thoughtless in showing no considera­tion for my feelings, but not wicked. You must go back, forgive her and endeavour to put this whole wretched business out of your mind.'

'I'll be damned if I will. When I had to tell her yestere'en that I was going abroad again, I was mightily unhappy for her. But after what she has done to Susan, I am so no longer. I sail from Greenwich three days hence. Till then I'll stay with Droopy Ned.'

Georgina shook her head. 'I've long since learned 'tis useless to argue with you. And, sorry as I am for her, 'twill comfort me greatly to know that you are doing what you can to save my boy. But if you wish to avoid further wrangles with your wife, you had best not stay with Droopy. 'Tis the first place she will go to look for you. I suggest you should stay here.'

'I thank you, dear one, but I'll not do that. You're right that she will seek me at Droopy's. Failing to find me there, she will next come to you. She already suspects that there is more than friendship between us, and I am greatly averse to strengthening that impression, for both your sake and hers. I have it, though. The perfect hide-out. Your studio.'

'By all means. But I'll not go out there with you. To dis­port ourselves as we have so oft done there one needs a carefree mind.'

Roger sighed. 'Alas, you are right. Without it our bodies would take no real joy of one another.'

'You will find your chamber robe and toilet things in their usual place, and I'll send out a footman to valet you. Also, if you wish to lie low there, one of my under-chefs to cook your meals.'

'I thank you, but I'll not need the last, as I'll eat out. I would, though, that tomorrow morning, dressed in plain clothes so that it will not be known that he is one of your people, the footman should take a coach out to Richmond with a letter to old Dan, telling him what I require packed for my voyage, then return with my valises.'

After a by no means cheerful supper with Georgina, Roger rode out to Kensington, stabled and fed his horse, then undressed. He had never slept alone in her big bed and, as he was about to get into it, he was suddenly con­scious of a feeling that to do so would be a sacrilege against their abiding love, so he spent the night in the room that buxom Jane occupied when her mistress was staying there.

In the morning the footman arrived with a supply of food, and cooked breakfast for him, then set off for Rich­mond with the list of things that Roger wished Dan to pack. By midday he was at White's and sent a note to Droopy, asking him to look in at the Club.

An hour later Droopy joined him. Georgina's guess had been right. Mary had arrived at ten o'clock, and poured out her woes to Judith, who was still trying to comfort her when Droopy came downstairs. Both he and Judith had quite truthfully assured her that they had no idea where Roger was, and offered to put her up until she had news of him. She had been grateful, but declined, saying that she would next try Kew House and that, if Roger was not there, would go home and stay there as—not know­ing that he had had his things collected that morning— she felt sure he would return to get them before leaving England.

When Droopy had been told of the latest developments, he shook his head. 'I think you're wrong, Roger, to treat her so harshly. 'Tis true that by her impetuosity she has caused young Susan needless suffering; but remember that she knows nothing of this threat to Charles's life, only that he is a prisoner. It is natural that she should resent your leaving her, solely to save the boy from a few extra weeks' captivity.'

'How could I tell her of the vision, Ned? Had I done so, I would have had to admit to having been secretly with Georgina. That would have made them enemies for life, and might have wrecked our marriage for good. In any case, it would have meant that every time in the future that I spent a night away from her, there would have been a most awful rumpus; and that I will not have.'

'I take your point. Nonetheless, 'tis clear that what she did was done on account of the great love she bears you. I pray you think on that.'

'I will,' Roger promised. But as soon as Droopy had left him to keep an appointment, his thoughts reverted to his poor young daughter and the misery Mary had so selfishly brought upon her.

On the two days that followed, he killed much of the time by taking long walks through parts of the metropolis he did not usually frequent. It was several years since he had done so, and he was sadly shocked by the change that had taken place. Many of the shops were closed and shuttered, their owners having gone bankrupt. Groups of men stood about on street corners, obviously out of work, their clothes were ragged and they looked half-starved. Even many of the more prosperous citizens lacked spring in their step and had gloomy expressions.

It brought home to him the fact that Napoleon's Con­tinental System was at last having its effect, just as the British blockade of the Continent was ruining the French. Both nations were utterly weary of the war. That England would never give in he was fully convinced, but the sight of so much suffering was heartbreaking. He could only pray that Austria would join the Coalition and, in the autumn, finally defeat the terrible Corsican egoist who for so many years had inflicted widespread misery on the peoples of a dozen nations.

On the morning of Sunday, the 25th, Roger had his valises loaded into a hired coach, lavishly tipped the foot­man who had looked after him, and drove to Kew House to say good-bye to Georgina, as had been arranged when he last saw her. To his amazement and intense annoyance, he was told that both Her Grace and Miss Brook were no longer there. Georgina had left a scribbled note for him, to the effect that an emergency had necessitated Susan and herself leaving for the country. She added that she would be constantly thinking of him and praying for his success and safe return.

Greatly disgrunded, he wondered what possible emer­gency could have caused her to let him leave England without a farewell meeting. As he got back into the coach and ordered the driver to take him to Amesbury House, it occurred to him that she might have received news that her old Duke had died, and felt it incumbent on her to set off for Newmarket immediately. If so, that would be all to the good as, on his return, she would be free to be with him more frequently. But they could not marry, for he now had Mary.

At the thought of Mary, he sighed. For the past few days he had determinedly put her out of his thoughts, but now he wondered if, by not returning to Richmond even to say good-bye, he had not punished her too severely. After all, Droopy had been right in that what she had done she had been driven to by love. Well, it was not too late to send her an affectionate message, and reassure her that it was not his intention to leave her permanently.

In the courtyard of Amesbury House, Droopy's coach was waiting as, whenever possible, he saw Roger off. Roger had his luggage transferred to it, then went inside the house, to find Droopy waiting for him with a bottle of fine Bordeaux wine that had just been decanted.

When the two friends were half-way through it, Roger said:

'About Mary, Ned. I did not take your advice, and now regret it. Please see her for me and tell her I'm sorry I pained her so; also that she has no need to worry about money. Yesterday, when I filled my money belt with gold at Hoare's Bank, I transferred ample funds to her account for her to draw upon.'

Twenty minutes later, they were on their way to Green­wich. As the coach pulled up at the jetty off which the frigate Pompey lay, Roger noticed that another coach was standing there. When he got out, he saw to his delight that it was Georgina's. At the same moment, followed by Susan, she emerged from it. His daughter ran forward and threw her arms round his neck. Having fondly embraced her, he took Georgina's hand, kissed it and said with a smile:

'You've played a pretty trick on me, and I suppose driving out to Greenwich could be termed going to the country. My departure, though, is hardly an emergency. But no matter. I am overjoyed to see you.'

She returned his smile. 'Nothing would have deterred me from bidding you farewell. But this is an emergency. At least I thought it so, knowing you to be about to cut off your nose to spite your face.'

He gave her a puzzled look. 'What mean you? I fail to understand.'

Droopy had led Susan aside; so, as Georgina took Roger's arm and led him towards her coach, he guessed that his friend must be in on this little plot, whatever it might be. On reaching her coach, Georgina pulled open the door, stepped back and gave Roger a swift push which sent him sprawling on the step, with his head inside the coach.

The interior was in semi-darkness but, after a second, he realised that the female figure sitting back in the far corner was Mary. It struck him at once that the women had thought up this trick to stop him, at the last moment, from going to Spain.

Mary leaned forward and spoke in a trembling voice, 'Roger, dear love, I am truly repentant for the unhappiness I caused Georgina and Susan. They have both for­given me, and...'

'And laid this trap in an effort to make me change my mind about leaving England,' he cut in angrily.

She shook her head. 'No, not that. We know that none of us could change your stubborn mind. Dear Georgina brought me here only that I might beg your forgiveness too, before you depart.'

'Ah, that's a very different matter,' he exclaimed joy­fully. 'And I am truly glad she did so. But, Mary, it is I who should ask forgiveness. It was only out of love that you tried to stop me, and I should not have held it against you. I am ashamed now to have treated you so brutally these past few days. I should not be long in Spain. With luck I'll be away only a few weeks, and on my return we will resume our happy life together.'

Three-quarters of an hour later, Droopy and the three ladies, all of whom he loved so dearly, waved him away from the jetty, and he went aboard Pompey.

Captain Durrant proved a pleasant, youngish man and, Pompey being his first command, he showed Roger over the ship with pride. Roger had realised that the advance of Wellington's army during the present campaign would make it unnecessary to go all the way down to Lisbon and had expected to be landed at Corunna; but Captain Dur­rant told him tiiat Bilbao had recently been liberated, and it was to that port they were bound, thus shortening Roger's land journey across northern Spain by several days.

So far it had not been a particularly good summer, but the weather had improved during the past week, and it was a sunny afternoon when Pompey dropped down the Thames.

For the next few days the sky remained almost cloud­less, and the sea calm, so for once Roger was not sick when crossing the Bay of Biscay. On the 29th, they entered Bilbao harbour and when he went ashore the heat was grilling. On enquiring of a passing British officer, he learn­ed that General Graham had set up his headquarters in the castle, so he had himself driven there in a carrozza and sent up his name.

Graham, Sir Thomas Picton and General Hill were the Duke's principal commanders, and Roger had met them all in Lisbon in the days when the British Army had been entrenched behind the lines of Torres Vedras, so the General received him as an old acquaintance.

Roger made no mention of Charles to him, but simply that he had to go to the Duke's headquarters, and would be grateful for facilities to do so. Graham readily agreed to provide him with a horse, and an escort of Dragoons as a precaution against his being attacked by French deserters, hundreds of whom were hiding in the mountains. He then offered Roger accommodation in the castle for the night, and said he would look forward to seeing him at dinner.

Over the meal Roger learnt from Graham and his Staff officers the events that had led up to Wellington's decisive victory five weeks earlier at Vittoria.

In the first place, two ill-judged decisions by Napoleon had helped to make it possible. Encouraged by the suc­cesses of their compatriots in other parts of Spain the guerrillas in Biscay, Navarre and Aragon had greatly in­creased their numbers and redoubled their efforts. Under their Chief, Mina, they became such a serious threat to the French army's line of communications that the Emperor had allotted forty thousand men, under the com­mand of General Clausel—who had brilliantly saved Marshal Marmont's army from total destruction after he had been seriously wounded at Salamanca—to clear northern Spain of these great bands of fanatical patriots. This had resulted in weakening the main army of King Joseph to a point which, at last, gave Wellington superio­rity in numbers.

Napoleon's other blunder had been to recall the Duke's most efficient opponent, Marshal Soult, leaving as the King's senior adviser the elderly and ailing Marshal Jourdan—whose sole claim to fame was a General of the Revolution at the Battle of Fleurus where the enemy, when attacking up a hill and being met by a heavy can­nonade, had panicked.

But it was the Duke's clever strategy that had been the main cause of this outstanding victory. He had led the French to believe that Braganza and not Ciudad Rodrigo was his base and that he meant to attempt to outflank their left wing, whereas he had pushed Graham's corps up along the coast on their right. Owing to the country there being very mountainous, Jourdan had thought such a move un­likely and detailed only light forces to hold it. Time after time they had been pushed back, necessitating withdrawals, by the outflanked main army. The British had advanced five hundred miles in six weeks, until Jourdan had felt compelled to make a stand on the Zadorra river.

Marshal Suchet, who commanded the other main army in Spain, could not come to Jourdan's assistance as he had all he could do to hold down Catalonia and prevent the advance of a British force under General Sir John Mur­ray that had landed, in Valencia, from Sicily; neither could General Clausel, as the King had recalled him from the north too late.

As the battle was joined, Graham had again driven back the French right and succeeded in cutting off their retreat by the great highway leading to San Sebastian and Bayonne. Meanwhile, Picton and Hill had forced the French centre and left to fall back on the Zadorra and the town of Vittoria. Once the French were broken they had no way of escape except through the town, then along a narrow, mountainous road that led to Pamplona. Under the bombardment of the British guns, the town had be­come a shambles and the retreat a rout of men running for their lives, pursued by Hussars and Dragoons.

The French were forced to abandon everything. The whole equipment of their army was captured, every single gun, hundreds of carriages laden with the loot of cities they had sacked, and one million pounds in their Paymasters' chests. King Joseph fled on horseback, and when he reach­ed Pamplona had only a single gold piece in his pocket.

When the tale had been told, General Graham said to Roger, 'But now tell us of the war in the north; for you must have much later news of that theatre than we have here.'

'I've no idea, Sir, how up to date you are,' Roger replied. 'But so far neither side has reaped much advan­tage from this year's campaign. Following Napoleon's disaster in Russia, Prince Eugene was forced to fall back to the Elbe, but the French still had strong garrisons in all the big fortress towns of northern Germany. After the great Kutuzov died in March, General Wittgenstein was given command of the Russian army, but he was later suc­ceeded by Barclay de Tolly—ever a cautious man—so the best advantage was not taken of the situation.

'By early May the Emperor arrived in Saxony with great reinforcements to take the field in person. At Liitzen the allies should have gained a victory, but were foiled by Marshal Ney's determined stand at Gross Gorschen. In the battle General Scharnhorst was killed; a great loss to the Prussians, but they still have Gneisenau and Blucher. I gather that the old man is a real tiger. He has never got over his men being driven from the field at Jena, and has sworn to have his revenge on Napoleon, or die whilst seeking it.

'Later in the month, to cover Silesia, the Emperor cros­sed the Spree and there was another great battle at Baut­zen, which again ended in a stalemate. After it the French succeeded in raising the siege of Breslau, while the Emperor retired on Dresden.

'It was shortly afterwards that he made, to my mind, a great mistake. The allies had failed in their attempts to induce the Saxons and the Danes to come over to their side, and both the Prussians and the Russians were tired and downhearted. Had Napoleon realised that, one more battle might have finished them. But he evidently believed the forces arrayed against him to be much more formidable than they actually were, so he sent Caulaincourt to the Czar Alexander to propose an armistice. The Austrians acted as mediators and it was agreed that hostilities should cease from June 4th to July 20th, and just before I left England I learned that the armistice had been extended for a further month.

There can be no doubt that Napoleon's object was to gain time for further reinforcements from Spain and Italy and fresh levies from France to join him and give him superiority in numbers. But things may well go the other way. It gives the allies, too, time to regroup and increase their forces. Prince Bernadotte has landed in Stralsand with a Swedish army that has not yet been in action, and he is an extremely able General. Last, but not least, the Austrians have not forgotten that Napoleon has twice occupied Vienna, and has robbed them of many provinces. They are still sitting on the fence; but as their price for remaining neutral they are demanding the return of Illyria, the restoration to Prussia of her stolen territories and many other concessions. To submit to such humilia­tion I judge to be contrary to the Corsican's nature. And, if the Austrians do come in against him, 'tis my belief that his goose will be cooked.'

On the following morning Roger set out for Welling­ton's headquarters, and he reached them two afternoons later. The French armies of both King Joseph and General Clausel had been driven across the Pyrenees, but as Gene­ral Graham had told Roger, it was not the Duke's inten­tion to follow them until he had captured two important fortresses: Pamplona and San Sebastian, both still strongly garrisoned by the French.

Roger had first met Wellington when he was a Colonel in India, but more recentiy he had brought him valuable information about the enemy's intentions in Portugal and Spain; so when, after a brief wait, an adjutant led Roger from the blazing sunshine into the cool shade of the Duke's marquee, he received a pleasant welcome.

When he had congratulated the great commander on having just received his Field Marshal's baton in recogni­tion of his brilliant victory at Vittoria, the Duke said:

'Sit down, Mr. Brook, and tell me what brings you here.' Then, being one of the very limited number of people who knew of Roger's second identity as one of Napoleon's A.D.G.s, he added with a smile, ‘I hope it is to tell me that you again mean to present yourself at the enemy's headquarters and bring me back all you can learn about his latest plans.'

Roger returned his smile. 'Indeed, Your Grace, I do intend to go there, if you can provide me with the uniform of a dead French officer—preferably a Colonel. And you may be sure that I will do my utmost to return with in­formation useful to you. But it was not that which brought me here. A young officer very dear to me was taken prisoner by the French only a short time ago. I know King Joseph well, and have little doubt that at my request he will release the prisoner on condition that, on rejoining your army, he should be sent to England, so that he is of no further value to you.'

The condition was not an unreasonable one, and Roger had thought of including it in his request because, if Charles could be got away from Spain, there would be no likelihood of his being captured a second time and Georgina's vision coming true.

'There will be no difficulty in getting a suitable uniform for you,' the Duke replied. 'There are hundreds of wound­ed in the hospitals. But who, may I ask, is this young man whom you are so anxious to relieve of the tedium of captivity?'

"Tis the son of my greatest friend, a lady whom you must have met when in London. She is now the Duchess of Kew, but was formerly the Countess of St. Ermins. It is her boy, the young Earl.'

The Duke ran a finger down his high-bridged nose, then shook his handsome head. 'I am much distressed by what I have to tell you, Mr. Brook. Soon after the Earl arrived at my headquarters, on learning that he spoke fluent Ger­man, I attached him to the Duke of Brunswick's staff. When it became known here that Prussia had declared war on France, Brunswick naturally wished to take his German Legion back to fight on their own soil. His request was granted, and they were shipped to Germany. St. Ermins had formed a strong attachment to the Duke, and I allowed him to go with them. I fear you have had your journey to Spain for nothing. He must be a prisoner some­where in Saxony or Silesia.'

14

The Greatest Statesman of His Age

Two factors accounted for the Duke of Wellington's out­standing success as a General: his unceasing care that his men should be well-fed, well-shod and suitably clothed, and the unusual combination in a military commander of the resolution to launch sudden offensives with the utmost vigour but coupled, normally, with almost exces­sive caution.

It was the latter which had determined him—although his army could now have invaded France almost un­opposed—not to cross the frontier while leaving the two great fortresses of Pamplona and San Sebastian still in the hands of the enemy and therefore capable of inter­fering with the smooth running of his lines of communica­tion.

On learning this, Roger realised at once that it might be several weeks before the British army crossed the Pyrenees, so he must do so on his own; and since it was evident that Charles had been captured somewhere in Germany, he must make his way there as quickly as possible.

A quarter-master secured for him the uniform of a French Colonel of Chasseurs, who had recently died from wounds, and an additional horse to carry his baggage, including a sufficient supply of food and wine to last him several days. A staff officer showed him on a large-scale map the disposition of the French forces in the mountains, as far as they were known, and provided him with a laisser-passer to show any British or Spanish advanced patrols that he might encounter. Then, on the morning of August 2nd, he took leave of the Duke and set out for Paris, the first five-hundred-mile stage of his long journey.

Owing to Napoleon's heavy withdrawals of troops from Spain for his campaign in Germany, and the almost total destruction of King Joseph's army six weeks earlier at Vittoria, it was known that the French forces along the Pyrenees were comparatively few in number and still in a state of grave disorder. So Roger decided that, rather than make a long detour round their left flank, he would risk approaching the mountains direct in the neighbour­hood of Tolosa, which lay half-way between Pamplona and San Sebastian.

His first day's ride proved extremely fatiguing, as the heat was torrid, and he gained only temporary relief by resting for two hours in the shade of a wood during the early afternoon; but by evening he was well up into the foothills of the mountains. As the sun was setting he came upon an isolated farmhouse and, on learning that he was an Englishman, the owner willingly gave him a meal and a bed for the night.

By midday the next day, in a much more pleasant climate, he entered a pass high up in the mountains. He was halted there by the most advanced of the numerous Allied patrols that had stopped him, and ordered to show his papers. The troops were Spaniards recently embodied from what had previously been a guerrilla band, and their leader, now an officer, gave him useful information about the situation of the French units on the far side of the pass.

Shortly before reaching the highest point in the pass he came upon a side track leading into an area of large, tumbled rocks. Having made his way along the path for a few hundred yards, he tethered the horses, ate a picnic meal; then, hidden by big boulders, unpacked his valise and changed into the French Colonel's uniform. As he had no further use for his civilian clothes, he buried them under a pile of shale, and he abandoned his spare horse, since having it would conflict with the story he meant to tell on reaching the French lines. He remounted his own horse, returned to the rough road through the pass and proceeded on his way.

It was not until nearly an hour later, on rounding a corner of the downward slope, that he encountered a French vedette. It consisted only of a sergeant and four men. They were naturally greatly surprised to see a senior French officer alone up there in the mountains; but he told them that he had succeeded by night in getting through the British who were besieging San Sebastian, and was on his way to King Joseph's headquarters, with an urgent plea that the King should attempt to relieve the city, otherwise it must soon surrender. The sergeant will­ingly gave him directions on how to reach the nearest main road, and by nightfall he entered Bayonne.

At headquarters there Roger learned that the Emperor, infuriated by his brother's defeat at Victoria, had recalled both the King and Marshal Jourdan in disgrace, and, in July sent Soult post-haste back from Germany to resume command of the army now defending the Pyrenees. This could, Roger felt, be bad news for Wellington when he received it, for after Davout and Massena, Soult was con­sidered to be the most able of the Marshals and, as a strategist, could be counted on to make the Allied invasion of France much more difficult than would one of the braver but less brainy Marshals, such as Ney or Augereau.

The Duc de Dalmatia was not at his H.Q., as he had gone up country with his staff to make a personal recon­naissance before launching a new offensive; but the able General Clausel, whom Roger had met on numerous occa­sions, was there. Roger told him the story of having been caught in San Sebastian, and his success in having got by night through the British lines, in the hope of securing aid for the beleaguered city. The lie provided yet another epi­sode to support the legend in the French Army which had led to his becoming known as ‘le brave Breuc’ and Clausel praised his courage, but said there was little hope of reliev­ing San Sebastian unless the Marshal Duke's projected offensive proved successful.

Clausel had no news of the situation in northern Europe. As far as he knew, the armistice agreed at Plaswitz, which had been reinforced by the Treaty of Reichenbach later in June, still continued and, in view of Roger's reputation, he asked him to remain in a post on his staff. But Roger replied that only circumstances over which he had had no control had compelled him to remain in Spain, and now that he had got out of that miserable country it was his duty, as one of the Emperor's A.D.C.s, to return to him.

That night, at dinner in the headquarters Mess, he met several old acquaintances, and passed an enjoyable even­ing. Then he set off again early the next morning, on the road to Paris. He had travelled it several times before, so knew well the cities through which he passed: Bordeaux, Angouleme, Poitiers, Tours and Orleans. There being no urgent necessity for speed, he did not tire himself unduly, and was content to cover an average of something over fifty miles a day. This gave him ample opportunity to observe conditions in the cities and the countryside along the way, and he found them deplorable.

In his youth, before the Revolution, and even after it during the Directory, the Consulate and the early years of the Empire, the towns had been a bustle of healthy people, going eagerly about their business; fat, jolly women behind market stalls heaped high with produce, the narrow streets jammed with carriages, wagons and horsemen; while in the fields and vineyards sturdy men worked and chaffed beside buxom peasant girls; there were herds of fat cattle and goats, big piggeries aiid many haystacks.

Now the population of the urban areas was old, slow-moving and looked half-starved. The only young males among them were one-legged, hobbling along on crutches, blind and tapping their way along with a stick, or with bodies hideously distorted by war wounds. In the streets there were no carriages, few wagons and no horsemen, while two-thirds of the market stalls were empty. Between the towns things were little better. Only cripples and grey­beards now worked in the fields beside the women. The herds were gone, all but a few scraggy cattle and horses had been commandeered, and not more than once in a mile could a haystack be seen.

To this terrible state, by his insatiable lust for power had the Corsican brigand reduced the once fair land of France.

On Thursday, August 14th, Roger reached Paris, and rode straight to Talleyrand's great mansion in the Rue St. Florentin. He arrived there just before six o'clock in the evening. As that was a favourite hour for gallants to dally with ladies they wished to seduce in their boudoirs, and knowing the brilliant statesman's insatiable zest for amor­ous encounters, Roger feared he might be engaged. But that did not prove to be the case. His Exalted Highness Charles Maurice de Perigord, Prince de Benevent, Vice Grand Elector of the Empire, was at-home and, on Roger's name being brought to him, at once ordered the footman to show him in.

Talleyrand was at this time fifty-nine years of age. As the eldest son of an ancient, princely family, he would normally have gone into the Army, but an accident while still a child had lamed him for life, and led to his being made to go into the Church. Few men could have been less fitted for the priesthood, as he was venal and so licen­tious that he was reputed to have slept with scores of the loveliest ladies at the Court of Versailles. That had not prevented his becoming Bishop of Autun, and a leading figure among those who brought about the liberal revolu­tion Of 1789. He was among the first to defy the Pope and adhere to the new French National Church, but with the coming of the Terror he was forced to go into exile, first in England then in the United States. From that time he threw off even the pretence of being a Churchman, and later married.

Never having been officially listed as an emigre, he was able to return to France soon after the fall of Robespierre and, under the Directory, began his brilliant career as the manipulator of France's foreign policy. Although Paris was then still dominated by the new ideas brought in by the Revolution, he contemptuously refused to conform, continued to dress in silks and satins, wore his hair powdered and lived again as a great noble.

By '99 France was bankrupt and the whole country in a hopeless state of disorder. Realising that solvency and law and order could be restored only by government under a strong dictator led to his conspiring with the redoubtable Fouche to bring about the coup d'etat of Brumaire, which led to young General Bonaparte being made First Consul on his return from Egypt. For the greater part of the ten years that followed Talleyrand, as Foreign Minister, and Fouche, as Chief of Police, had been, after Napoleon, the most powerful men in France.

To begin with, Napoleon, knowing nothing of foreign policy, had allowed himself to be guided by Talleyrand; but as the years passed, the Emperor had become ever more convinced of his own omnipotence, and had acted contrary to his Minister's advice. He had, as Talleyrand had believed he would, brought order out of chaos; but, again and again he refused all opportunities to make peace, and Talleyrand saw that, having restored France, he was now destroying her by his ceaseless wars waged for his own aggrandisement. In consequence, in 1807 he had resigned his portfolio and refused to serve the Emperor further.

Nevertheless, Napoleon was so bewitched by Talley­rand's genius for statescraft that, having made him a Prince and one of the six Great Dignitaries of the Empire, he continued to consult him on all important questions.

Talleyrand had known Roger ever since he had first come to Paris as the youthful secretary to the Marquis de Rochambeau. In those pre-revolutionary days the Abb6, as he then was—although he had already taken to wearing the lay clothes of a Court exquisite—lived in a small house in the suburb of Passey. After an attack by footpads, Roger had been carried there unconscious, and his babb­lings had revealed the fact that he was an Englishman. A friendship had sprung up between them and, several years later, it was Roger who had secured the papers that had enabled Talleyrand to escape the guillotine and get safely out of France.

That was one reason why, still later, even when Roger had re-appeared in Paris as an A.D.C. to Napoleon, Talleyrand had kept it secret that Roger was the son of a British Admiral. But there was also another reason. From the very beginning, the great statesman had held the con­viction that there could be no lasting peace in Europe unless France and Britain ceased their long enmity and became allies—a belief that Roger fully shared. To that end Talleyrand had ever worked secretly and consistently, and he had astutely decided that if Roger was a secret agent the damage he could do France was outweighed by his usefulness as an abettor of his own intrigues; as had proved the case at the time of the coup d'etat. More recently, when he had secured actual proof that Roger was a spy, he had still refrained from denouncing him because, when at last the Emperor's downfall could be brought about, Roger would prove a trustworthy go-between to vouch for it to the British Government that he, Talleyrand, had contributed to that fall and was the most suitable man to guide France into an entente cordiale with Britain.

In consequence, on this August evening the two met as old friends, although on Talleyrand's part with pleased surprise. Limping forward from behind his huge, mahog­any desk, he laid a beautifully-manicured, beruffled hand on Roger's arm and exclaimed:

'Mon cher ami! How delighted I am to see you. I had believed you long since dead in those accursed Russian snows.'

Roger returned his smile. 'Nay, Prince. 'Twas a devilish near thing, and by ill chance I became separated from the Emperor, so had to hide while the tide of war swept over me. But after several nightmare weeks, half-frozen and starving, I succeeded in reaching Reval. Thence I took ship to Stockholm, where I was kindly received by Bernadotte.'

'How fares that Gascon rogue ?'

'I found him in excellent trim. As Grown Prince he has become very popular with his Swedes and, as you must know, has had the good sense to enter into an alliance with both Russia and Britain.'

'Indeed I do, for they have paid his price—a free hand to oust the Danes from Norway. He offered to remain neutral if the Emperor could give him that, but Napoleon dared not, otherwise he would have lost the Danes as allies.'

'I had no idea that Bernadotte had been playing with both sides.'

'Ah, he's a sly one. But, mark my words. The new Co­alition will derive little benefit from the army he has landed in Stralsund. He'll let the others do the fighting, and just stand by to pull his share of chestnuts out of the fire when all is over.'

'Think you this autumn's campaign will at last see an end to the war?'

Talleyrand had told the footman who had shown Roger in to bring champagne. The man now returned with it. While it was being poured and until the man had left the room, the statesman remained silent. Then, raising his glass, he said, 'Here's defeat and damnation to the scourge of France. But when it will come no man can say. Everything is still in the melting pot.'

Roger willingly drank the toast, then frowned. 'I am at a complete loss to understand why, after he had lost his army in Russia, the Prussians did not seize the chance to turn on him at once and, with the Russians, finish him off.'

'In last winter's campaign, the Russians suffered nearly as severely as their enemies. After they had driven what remained of the Grande Armee over the. frontier into Po­land, they were too exhausted and wasted by disease to launch an offensive. Remember, too, that although our field army had been almost annihilated, we still had many thousands of troops in Poland, Prussia, Saxony and other German States, and garrisons in every fortress city of importance. When Murat abandoned the command the Emperor had left with him, and made off to his Kingdom of Naples, Prince Eugene, who took over, could have held the line of the Oder. That he later fell back to the Elbe was a strategic blunder, but he can hardly be blamed, since he could not know the weakness of the enemy con­fronting him.

'As for Prussia, you know as well as I do what a gutless fellow Frederick William is. Even when his own General, von Yorck, took his army corps over to the enemy, the King could not be persuaded by Scharnhorst, Gneisenau and Bliichcr to declare openly against France. Admittedly he was in Berlin, which was held by us; but even after he had sneaked away by night to Breslau, it was well into Spring before he could be persuaded to enter into an alliance with the Russians.

'No-one can at least accuse our little man of dragging his feet. By mid-December he was back here working twenty hours out of every twenty-four, recalling troops from Spain and Italy and pouring into new regiments every, male between sixteen and sixty who could be laid hands on. Ah, even the deaf, the one-eyed and men who were still partially disabled from old wounds. By April the reinforcements he had despatched to the army of the north made it superior in numbers to those of Russia and Prussia combined, and several of his best Marshals; Ney, Marmont, Macdonald and Oudinot all commanding corps. Early in May he arrived to take command in person. There followed the battles of Lutzen and Bautzen.'

Roger nodded. 'Yes, I have heard accounts of them, and I gather that at both he gave the Allies a tremendous pasting.'

'He did indeed. They were most bloody encounters, with heavy losses on both sides, and from both he emerged victorious. But in neither case did he follow up his success. Had he done so after either, as he would have done in the old days, he might well have inflicted a final defeat on the Allies and forced them to sue for peace. But he is no longer the man he was.'

'For that at least we can thank God. What thinks Your Highness of the armistice which he agreed early in June? Will he benefit from it when the conflict is renewed, or the reverse?'

Talleyrand smiled. 'With luck, it will prove his undoing, and I was largely responsible for it. As you know, I have long been in secret correspondence with Metternich and, in addition, had the ear of Prince Schwarzenberg while he was Austria's Ambassador here during the winter. I persuaded them to build up their army to the maximum possible extent, then use the threat of it to coerce our mass-murderer into agreeing terms which would lead to a permanent pacification of Europe.'

‘I heard something of this just before I left England in July, and more talk of it at the Duke of Wellington's head­quarters, from whence I have just come. According to these rumours, the Austrian terms are so harsh that I judged it unlikely that the Emperor would accept them.'

‘I think them not unreasonable. They are that the Grand Duchy of Warsaw and the Confederation of the Rhine should be abolished, that the Illyrian provinces should be restored to Austria, that the Hanse towns and other territories of northern Germany which were annexed in 1810 should be restored, and that Prussia should be re-established in as favourable a situation as she was in

1805. This would leave France considerably greater in area than she was under the Bourbons, and with the natural frontiers that she has always desired. But you were right, cher ami. Our egomaniac ruler cannot be per­suaded to give up his dreams of world conquest, so Austria will join the Coalition against him.'

'God be praised for that!' Roger exclaimed. 'I was given to understand that the armistice ended on July 20th, and although it is now August 14th, there is still no news of its cessation, so I feared the Austrians had after all become afraid to take the plunge.'

'Nay.' Talleyrand took a pinch of snuff, then carefully brushed off the grains that had fallen on his lace cravat and the lapels of his black satin coat. 'Metternich would have preferred a settlement, because with France defeated and gready weakened, that would leave Russia far stronger than he wishes to see her. For that reason he has given the Emperor a further three weeks, hoping to the last that he would see sense. Yet Austria dare not stand by and risk Prussia and Russia being forced to make a sep­arate peace, lest next year, for the third time, the con­queror decides to march on Vienna. Metternich realises now that there is nothing for it but to fight, and even as we sit here the die is cast. I had secret intelligence of his decision three days ago. But you said a moment since that you are just come from Spain. Tell me now how go things there, and what brings you again to Paris.'

After describing the situation in the Pyrenees, Roger went on to relate how he had returned to the Continent in order to find the young Earl of St. Ermins and secure his release.

When he had done, Talleyrand nodded. 'The Ministry of War should have lists of all the officers in prisoner-of-war camps, but it may take some while to locate your young friend. In the meantime, I shall be most happy if you will be my guest here. There are many matters upon which we can discourse with mutual interest, and you have not yet told me what you have been up to since you left Stockholm. But you must forgive me if I leave you now, as I have an appointment with the Duc de Bassano, who succeeded me as Minister of Foreign Affairs, and still holds that post.'

Standing up, Roger replied, ‘I am most grateful to Your Highness for your generous offer of hospitality; but from my youth, whenever in Paris, I have always stayed at La Belle Etoile, hard by the Louvre. The owner is a treasured friend of mine, who has often given me valuable information on the trends of popular opinion in Paris. Moreover he stores there for me a trunk containing a variety of clothes, weapons and other things which I am anxious to go through. I trust you will excuse me if I take up my old quarters there; but I shall be most happy to wait upon Your Highness daily and learn at what hours it would be convenient for you to receive me.'

'As you will.' The Prince nodded. 'In any case, join me for dinner tomorrow. I have a number of people coming, most of whom will be known to you.'

The reason that, on reaching Paris, Roger had gone straight to Talleyrand's mansion, was because he knew that the Prince was the one person in the city from whom he could learn if Austria had backed down or if there was still a possibility of her joining the Allies against Napo­leon; and that decision was of immense importance to all Europe, not least to Britain whose people, after twenty years of conflict, were now so utterly war-weary. He would otherwise have gone first to La Belle Etoile.

Now, greatly cheered by the possibility that within a few months the slaughter might at last cease, having taken leave of the statesman he made his way to the ancient hostelry where many times he had known fear and joy. But on his arrival his elation was soon changed to grievous sorrow.

The grey-haired ostler in the stable yard greeted him with the news that the old landlord, Maitre Blanchard, had died of a burst stomach ulcer the previous winter, and his widow had soon afterwards sold the property and returned to her native Normandy to live with her sister.

On the first evening after arriving in Paris Roger had always supped with the good couple in their private par­lour off his favourite mushroom omelette, and duck cooked in the Normandy fashion, which was Madame Blanchard's speciality. He had been looking forward to that excellent meal, washed down with a couple of bottles of the Maitre's best Burgundy, while the three of them gossiped cheerfully over old times and new. Now, never again would he enjoy that good cheer, and the compan­ionship of the honest, big-hearted couple.

The new landlord was a much younger man and, when he learned that Roger was Colonel Comte de Breuc, well known as one of the Emperor's paladins, became un­attractively servile. Bowing and scraping, he led Roger up to his old room, which happened to be free, and had his big, round-lidded trunk brought down from the attic. In it, among other clothes, he had a spare uniform, medals and an A.D.C.'s sash, so he was able to change into his proper military attire.

While doing so, he was prey to many disturbing mem­ories. It was there he had lived, posing as a terrorist dur­ing the darkest days of the Revolution, while the good Blanchards had kept the secret that a few years earlier, in his true role as an exquisite, he had frequented the Court of Versailles. There, too, he had for a while concealed the beautiful Athenais de Rochambeau, later enjoyed the clandestine visits of Napoleon's lovely, lecherous sister, the Princess Pauline, and still later also made love to his divine Georgina when she had been secretly in Paris.

Next morning, he went to the Ministry of War and sent his name up to the Minister, General d'Hanebourg Clarke, Duc de Feltre,.who was an old acquaintance. After a wait of ten minutes or so, Clarke received him and, knowing that he had been with the Emperor in the retreat from Moscow, heartily congratulated him on his re-appearance alive and well.

Roger told him of his escape to Sweden and that from Stockholm he had gone to England. The General expres­sed surprise and wonder that, as a French officer, he had not been kept there as a prisoner-of-war.

Raising his eyebrows, Roger replied, ‘I thought you were aware, as most of my friends are, that although I was born in Strasbourg, my mother was Scottish and that when she died I was sent to England to live with her sister. I was educated there, and returned to my own country at the time of the Revolution, as a young journalist in­spired by the new doctrine of Liberty, Equality and Frat­ernity. I have numerous relatives in England who believe that I've spent the greater part of my life travelling in distant lands while, in fact, I have been serving as an A.D.C. to the Emperor.'

It was the story he had told for many years, and it was believed by everyone in the French Army who knew him well. After a moment, he added, 'The Emperor, of course, has long been aware of this and, on more than one occa­sion, I have gone back to England in order to report to him upon conditions there. That is why, on escaping from Russia, I took the opportunity to do so again, which brings me to the matter upon which I have come to see you.'

When he had told the General of his anxiety to trace Charles St. Ermins, whom he stated was his nephew’ Clarke replied, 'Certainly - I will do what I can to help you and, as you are so close to our master, I've no doubt he will grant your request to have this young milord ex­changed as soon as possible. But we have many thousands of prisoners in camps here in France, in Saxony and also in Holland and the Rhineland; so it may take several days before I can let you know in which he is.'