The Ravishing of Lady Jane Ware

'It's a pleasure,' Roger responded to this friendly greeting. 'I trust your knee is better.'

"Thanks, it's getting on pretty well. I was mightily disappointed at having to leave my Dragoons just after we'd pushed old Massena out of Portugal. But what's the good of a cavalryman if he can't ride a horse? And the field hospitals are so riddled with lice that I thought it better to be carted down here in an ambulance than stay up there behind the line. I should be able to get back, though, in a week or so. Take a chair, and join me in a glass of wine.'

Feeling that it would be churlish to refuse, Roger uncorked one of the bottles he had brought, and poured out two glasses. Then the two old enemies drank each other's health. For a while they talked about the campaign and various mutual acquaintances, until they got on to Mary and her dead parents, and Gunston remarked:

'You're a damned lucky fellow, Brook. You have always had a way with the women, and it needed only half an eye to see that little Mary is quite besotted about you, What luck for you, too, that you should both be sleeping under the same roof. She's a game little filly, and as hot as mustard. I'll wager you have your work cut out to satisfy her. Don't you dare get her with child, though, or you and I will quarrel again.'

Roger's face had become dead white, His blue eyes blazing, he came to his feet and cried, "You filthy minded brute! How dare you slander a virtuous girl like Mary! I'll call you out for that, and this time I'll kill you.'

Gunston's fair eyebrows shot up again. 'Hold hard!' he exclaimed, raising himself on his pillows. 'It's no slander to speak the truth, and I know of what I'm talking. Mary's no virgin. To call me out on her account would be behaving like a quixotic ass. She's been had by half a dozen fellows; and if you haven't had her, more fool you. That demure look of hers is naught but a fire screen in front of a fire. Damn it, man! I've had her myself. It was one afternoon in a punt, up a backwater on the Thames. She made the usual maidenly protests, but once I got between her legs I only had to push a bit and, in no time, she was begging me to give it to her hard.'

To that Roger could find no adequate reply. Seething with rage, he turned about, stamped out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

By this time he could walk without a stick and had begun to exercise his game leg, so he had carried the bottles and fruit to the hospital in a basket. He made his way back to the Legation by instinct rather than by looking which way he was going, for his mind was in a turmoil.

Recalling Mary's midnight visits to his room, he again visualized all that had taken place; the unconcealed passion with which she had kissed him and, lying outside the bedclothes, pressed her little body against his; the liberties she had let him take without protest; the way she had enjoyed having him kiss her breasts. Short of actually handling his manhood, she had left nothing undone to rouse him. No girl of her upbringing could have more blatantly offered herself. What an idiot he had been not to take her. But that could soon be rectified.

That evening he broke a rule that he had so far forced himself to observe and, when they were alone together for a moment, asked her to come to him later. With a conspiratorial lift of her slanting eyebrows, she smilingly consented.

During the hours that followed, he could hardly contain his impatience. While they were in the salon he had difficulty in keeping his eyes off her. With each glance he took in her feminine charms with new appreciation: the pretty face with its gay, humorous expression, the glossy ringlets that made such a perfect frame for it, the full, red lipped mouth, just made for kisses, her pouting breasts that gently rose and fell beneath her lace fichu, the well rounded little bottom, the outline of which could be seen as she stooped with her back to him when picking up a flower that had fallen from another lady's corsage.

Up in his room he paced restlessly to and fro for an hour before undressing and getting into bed. There he tried to read, but found it impossible to concentrate. Every few minutes he glanced at his big turnip watch which lay on the bedside table. The hands seemed positively to crawl. At last it was midnight, but he knew that he could not expect her for another half-hour at least. Continuing to wait through those last thirty minutes proved almost unbearable. He was even tempted to go to her. But he knew that she shared a clothes closet with Deborah, who occupied a room next to hers; so that would have been madness. At last she came to him.

Her coming was such a relief that it restored calmness to his mind. He did not mean to rush his fences. By showing more emotion than he usually displayed when she made her midnight visits, he would surprise and might disturb her. Closing the door softly, she ran over to his bed, put her arms round his neck and kissed him. He returned her kiss, but restrained himself from putting more ardour than usual into it. Happily, she climbed up on the bed, as she had done on the last two occasions and, while he lay under the bedclothes, settled herself comfortably lying beside him on the eiderdown.

For a while they continued kissing, then talked of the events of the day. Presently he began to play with her breasts until her nipples hardened. She closed her eyes and her breathing quickened. Having roused her to a state suitable to his design, he whispered:

'My adored one, why not come into bed with me? The bedclothes make such a horrid barrier between us. I long to have your dear body next to mine, so that I can embrace you more closely.'

After hesitating a moment, she replied, 'I… I don't think I ought to.'

He gave a little laugh. 'Why not, since we now look on each other as engaged? All engaged couples do so if they get the chance.'

She drew a quick breath. 'Very well, then, but I must keep my dressing gown on.

'Of course,' he promptly agreed, and sat up.

As she slipped off the bed, he pushed back the bedclothes and she got in beside him. Within a minute they were locked in a close embrace and kissing breathlessly. But still he refrained from rushing matters. It was not until ten minutes later that he untied the sash of her dressing gown, pushed it aside and, kissing her again, let his hand begin to wander.

She made no protest when he eased up her long nightdress, as she had let him feel her on two previous occasions. Again she closed her eyes and glued her mouth to his. He gave her another minute; then, still playing with her, used his elbow to push her legs apart. Abruptly, before she could protest, he threw one of his legs over hers and came on top of her.

For several heart-beats she did not resist him; then, as she felt his staff, she pulled her mouth from his and gasped:

'Roger! Roger! What are you doing? Stop! Oh, stop!'

But by then his object was as good as accomplished; yet he had to thrust hard to penetrate her. It crossed his mind that, being so small a woman might account for her parts also being so small, although that was contrary to his experience. Next moment her resistance ceased. She gave a cry of pain, then let him have his way. Soon afterwards her fingernails were biting into his back and she began to move jerkily under him, until they suddenly clenched hard in a climax.

But as they ceased their passionate wrestle and lay panting, he felt no joy, only a sick distress. He knew now that Gunston had deliberately lied to him, with the malicious hope that this would happen. Mary had, after all, been a virgin.

For a few minutes she lay absolutely still. Then she pushed him roughly from her and almost fell out of bed. By the light of the solitary candle, he saw that tears were running down her cheeks and that her mouth was strangely distorted into an ugly shape.

Suddenly her eyes blazed and she cried, 'Roger! Oh, Roger, how could you do this to me? You have robbed me of the only thing I had to give a husband. I hate you! I hate you! I never wish to set eyes on you again,'

Then, sobbing as though her heart would break, she fled from the room.

16

England, Home and Beauty

Roger was still sitting up in bed. Bowing his head, he covered his face with his hands. There were tears in his eyes. He felt shaken, sick and, for once, utterly at a loss. He had done a terrible thing committed an act which in his own mind amounted to a crime and, most shattering thought of all, there was no possible way in which he could give Mary back her virginity. Even the Saints would have proved incapable of performing that kind of miracle.

Had Gunston been in the room, his life would not have been worth a moment's purchase. With malice aforethought he had told a tissue of lies. His assertion that Mary had had several lovers and about having had her himself in a punt was a fabrication from beginning to end. But was it? Perhaps not quite. Possibly there had been an episode in a punt, in which Gunston had tried to seduce Mary and she had repulsed him. She had said frankly that she liked and admired him, so she might have let him kiss, cuddle and fondle her, but then told him that she was determined to keep her virginity for a husband.

It was a normal assumption that a girl of Mary's class and upbringing would be a virgin; but, if such an episode had taken place, that would have made Gunston certain of it. Knowing that both Mary and Roger had passionate natures, if Roger was told that she was easy game it was a foregone conclusion that he would attempt her and, as she was in love with him, there was a fair chance that she would give way. It must have been thus that, with diabolical cunning, Gunston had hoped to faring pain and grief both to the man he bated and the girl who had refused him. And he had succeeded,

The more Roger thought about it, the more convinced he became that Gunston had made love to Mary and that, after leading him on, she had refused to go the whole way. That gave rise to another thought. How much was Mary herself to blame for what had happened? Because a girl looked demure and, when in company, behaved with becoming modesty, it did not in the least follow that she was not subject to strong sexual urges and, given the chance, could not resist indulging them in secret. Undoubtedly Mary was like that, and did not realise that such conduct was unfair to the man or that, if she played with fire too often, one day she would get burned. Such women could not change their natures. The only satisfactory solution to such cases was marriage. But that Mary had largely brought her seduction on herself was no consolation to Roger.

Thinking of marriage stirred another chord in his mind. Mary's bitter resentment at his having taken advantage of her could be overcome. He could make reparation for his act by saying that he would marry her, and she would count her virginity well lost. But almost immediately he put the thought from him. Except when they were living together, he and Georgina had never been faithful to each other. In view of the fact that for nine-tenths of their adult lives he had been absent from England, to have denied themselves other loves would have been absurd; but those other loves had never loosened the bond between them. And her husband was an old man. He might die at any time, leaving her free to marry again. If so, Roger's dearest wish that he and Georgina should spend their middle years and old age as husband and wife might yet be realised. On no account must that prospect be jeopardized. Guilty as he felt himself to be, fond as he was of Mary and desperately sorry for her, that was too high a price to pay to restore her happiness.

His bedside candle was burning low. He got out of bed to light another. As he did so he saw that there was blood on his night shirt and blood in the bed. Although he might have expected such a possibility, the sight of the crimson stains came as a shock, and presented a very worrying problem. How, in hell's name, was he to explain them away?

An even more difficult question was the course he was going to take in the morning. Could he patch things up with Mary? He might have if he could have got her for an hour on his own, but that was impossible without her connivance and, even then, he greatly doubted if he could persuade her to forgive him. She had said that she wished never to set eyes on him again; and he felt certain she had meant that.

The probability was that she would pretend illness so as to remain up in her room the next day; then, when she came downstairs the following morning, expect him to be gone. If she found him still there, she would be desperately embarrassed when they came face to face, and that might lead to a very awkward scene. But upon what possible pretext could he leave the Legation at such short notice?

He had intended to stay on for another week or two, until his complete recovery would make it an abuse of hospitality to remain there longer. A few days before it seemed proper for him to leave he would have enquired about ships leaving for England, secured a passage in one and told his host that he had done so. He could not say next morning that he had already booked a passage, as he would at once be asked the name of the ship, in order that his luggage could be sent on board. He thought for a moment of saying that he had received an urgent message requiring him to rejoin Lord Wellington with the minimum of delay. But how and when could he have received such a message, without anyone in the Legation knowing anything about it? Besides, they all knew that he would not yet dare to ride a horse, as that would cause his thigh wound to reopen.

His thigh wound. That was the answer. By making use of it he could kill two birds with one stone. He would open the wound himself, and say that it was due to his having had a fall. That would not only account for the blood on the sheets, but also enable him to ask to be taken back to hospital to have the wound stitched up again.

When he looked at his turnip watch, he was surprised to see that it was only a quarter past one. So much seemed to have happened in the past three quarters of an hour that he would have expected it to be much later. To proceed with his plan at once would have meant rousing the house in the middle of the night, and putting a number of people to considerable inconvenience; so he decided to postpone it until the morning.

His long day of waiting in anticipation of a happy consummation of his affair with Mary, the awful catastrophe it had proved and his anxieties since had taken a lot out of him; so he slept much better than he had expected. He woke at his usual hour, soon after six, then spent some minutes miserably recalling the night's events and steeling himself to carry out his plan for getting away from the Legation that day.

From the marble washstand he collected his razor, then bared his thigh. The scar still showed red just below his hip, and he was most loath to inflict a fairly serious new wound on himself. Yet he knew that half measures would only defeat his object. A doctor would be sent for and would patch him up there in the Legation.

Gritting his teeth, he slashed with the razor hard across his thigh, blood gushed out and ran down his leg. Quickly he cleaned the razor by dipping it in the water jug, put it back in its usual place, grabbed a towel, got back into bed and pulled the silken bell-rope beside it.

A few minutes later the footman who valeted him came into the room. Holding the towel, now covered with blood, hard against the wound, Roger explained that on getting out of bed, he had tripped and his thigh had come into violent contact with the comer of a nearby table.

Having expressed his concern, the man ran off and soon afterwards Sir Charles and his wife arrived on the scene in their chamber robes. With exclamations of dismay, the good lady went for lint and a bandage and, on her return, succeeded in reducing the flow of blood, put a cold compress on the wound and bound it up.

The Minister then said lie would send for his doctor; but Roger quickly protested, 'Nay, Your Excellency, I have already trespassed too much on the kindness of yourself and Lady Stuart. I could not bring myself to do so further. Besides, the wound must again be sewn up by a qualified surgeon; so I pray you have me removed to the hospital as soon as may be.'

Reluctantly Sir Charles and his wife agreed. A quarter of an hour later, Roger was carried downstairs by two footmen who accompanied him to the hospital where a bed in a ward was found for him. Gritting his teeth he again submitted to the painful business of being stitched up, then considered the problem of what his next move should be.

His only concern now was that Mary would feel compelled to accompany Deborah on visits to him. But next morning, his fears on that score were allayed. Deborah came, accompanied by her aunt, and he learned from them that Mary had been stricken with an intermittent fever, which they attributed to fish poisoning. Whether she was actually ill or shamming, he had no means of knowing, but it certainly seemed probable that the shock she had sustained had resulted in her running a temperature. However, she would not be able to maintain for long that she was ill; so he decided that he must now get away from Lisbon as soon as possible and, when his visitors had gone, he asked his surgeon to enquire for him about passages to England,

The surgeon was averse to letting him leave his bed in less than a week, but when stitching up Roger's wound he had formed the opinion that it could not have been reopened in such a manner as a fall against a table. Suspecting from this that there was something unusual about the affair, he did not protest further when Roger asserted that most urgent business required his presence in London.

A passage was secured for Roger in a returning transport that was sailing from Lisbon four days later. He felt he ought to call at the Legation to make his farewells; but decided against it in case by then Mary had found it too difficult to sham illness any longer. So, on Lady Stuart's second visit to him, he begged her forgiveness for his apparent discourtesy, giving as his reason that he would have had to be taken to the Legation in an ambulance, as he was as yet forbidden to walk.

On April 22nd, an ambulance took him down to the dock and he was put aboard. Several other empty transports were in the convoy, and they were slow going vessels, so it was not until May 6th that he landed at Portsmouth, But the passage had been a comparatively smooth one and, by then, his wound had healed again.

The following night he was in London and giving Droopy Ned an account of his adventures during the past three months. In the interim there had occurred no political upheavals. Mr. Perceval had succeeded in weathering the storms that had beset his early tenure of the office of Prime Minister. If not a brilliant man he was devout, honest, a very skilful Parliamentarian, and much beloved by his family and friends.

His most recent troubles had been the high price of gold, which had led to a Bill being passed enforcing the acceptance of banknotes as legal tender for any sum; and the continual cry of merchants from all quarters of the kingdom that they were being ruined by the measures taken by the Government in retaliation to Napoleon's Continental System. But Wellington's successes in the Peninsula had greatly heartened the war weary nation.

The poor, aged King showed no sign of recovering from his madness. Bearded, blind and muttering crazily, he continued to live, now confined to his apartments at Windsor. Meanwhile, 'Prinny had got well into his stride as Regent. Although he greatly resented the way in which his powers had been restricted by the Regency Bill, he had at least made no further trouble for the Government by inciting his Whig friends to hamper it. Egotistical and disloyal by nature, it was typical that, except for Sheridan and a few minor cronies, he had abandoned his Whig friends now that it suited his interests to cultivate the Tories. He treated his unfortunate wife shamefully and continued to be grossly extravagant, both of which counts caused him to be very unpopular with the people.

But the London season was in full swing. The coverings on the furniture of the great mansions in the West End had been removed. In many of them servants, up to the number of fifty, scuttled about with brooms and dusters, labored In kitchens and laundries, carried endless cans of hot water up to the bedrooms, heated curling irons, uncorked bottles of wine by the dozen, or waited at table, Scores of footmen in gaily striped waistcoats ran through the streets carrying messages by day or flambeaux by night, to light the way for their masters and mistresses. Carriages, coaches and sedan chairs frequently formed solid blocks in the narrow thoroughfares. Every night many thousand candles lit the great houses and in a dozen or more of them there were balls, concerts and routs from which the aristocratic revelers rarely came away before dawn. So, back at last in England, Roger could anticipate a gay and carefree summer.

Learning from Droopy that Georgina was in residence at Kew House in Piccadilly, the morning after he reached London he set oil in high spirits to call on her.

As soon as they were alone, they embraced with their old fervour; but, having noticed his bad limp, Georgina quickly put him from her and demanded to know how he had come by it. Smiling, he told her only that he had been captured by brigands in Portugal and had been wounded when escaping from them, then asked when they could have a long session together.

'Why not today?' she replied with a laugh. 'Tonight I am bidder, to the Duchess of Devonshire's ball and am to be escorted there, though 'tis only two hundred yards up the street, by my latest beau, young Lord Chalfont. But I'll send my Negro page with a message to put him off, and another to her Grace praying her to excuse me because I am plagued by a migraine. We'll take luncheon together here, then drive out to Kensington and spend the night there.'

So, to Roger's great satisfaction, the matter was arranged. Three o'clock found these lifelong lovers out at Georgina's studio and half an hour later in her big bed with no intention of leaving it except to partake of snacks until well into the following morning.

After they had made love with all their old ardour, with Georgina's head comfortably pillowed on his chest, Roger spent over an hour telling her how he had been accused of murder by the de Pombals, of his missions to Massena and Soult, of his terrible twenty-four hours as the prisoner of O Diabo and, finally, of the calamitous ending of his affair with Mary.

When he had done Georgina said lazily, 'The little fool. Girls like her who deliberately excite men's passions deserve all they get. I count her monstrous lucky to have lost her maidenhead to a man as chivalrous as yourself. Most gallants would have been greatly angered, told her it served her right, and refused to spare her blushes by leaving the house at considerable inconvenience to themselves. For having opened your wound in order to accommodate her, you deserve a martyr's crown. I can think of no other man who would have done the like,'

'You are ungenerous to my sex, dear heart. In no other way could I account for the blood in the bed and get myself out of the Legation the following morning. I'm sure that any decent man would have acted as I did, had he spent many hours in Mary's company.'

'Why so? Was she then so unusual bewitching?'

'Indeed she was. I'd not rate her as a great beauty, though she had a most piquant face and enchanting figure. It was her personality that was so attractive. As I have told you, she is an orphan, has no fortune and, to maintain herself with any decency, she was almost entirely dependent on the charity of her friends; yet she faced a bleak future with unfailing gaiety. That she allowed me to fondle her was, I am convinced, not with any intent to lead me on, but because she is very passionate by nature and, since she was in love with me, could not subdue her cravings. Yet, unlike Lisala, she had not a trace of evil in her, and during our games ever displayed a sweet modesty. She has, too, a high courage. Had she not attacked that guarda with her parasol, I'd not have escaped into the Legation but been dragged off to a Portuguese prison. Apart from yourself, dear love, and Amanda, I've never known a more joyous and delightful companion.'

Georgina sniffed. 'Since you found her such a paragon and have ample money of your own, I wonder that you did not marry her.'

'Is it likely?' he replied in quick remonstrance, giving her nearest curl a little tug. 'You wicked piece! How dare you suggest such a thing when you are married to a man near twice your age. Old K can last but a year or two. And nothing would induce me to jeopardize my prospect of making you mine for ever, once the old fellow has snuffed it.'

She sighed. 'Alas, dear Roger, I fear fate has decreed that we'll never be man and wife, at all events not for a long time to come. I've had no chance to tell you before, but early in April he had a stroke. He is now paralyzed, poor wretch, and can neither rise from his bed nor talk. Yet the doctors declare him to be in all other respects as healthy as a man of fifty. His sexual activities apart, he has never indulged in any excesses. He gave up drink long ago that he might disport himself more vigorously in bed. Country pursuits and regular exercise have kept all his muscles in good trim and now he is fed only on simple, sustaining foods. With naught to age him further, the doctors say he may last another ten years.'

For some minutes Roger was silent, then he said, 'What you tell me is a sad blow to my hopes. Even so, I have no mind to marry again, and I am now home for good. Half a loaf was ever better than no bread. As long as we can be together frequently, I'll be content with that,'

Lifting her face, she kissed him. 'As a mistress, I am yours, and will be only yours as long as you remain in England. Now, my beloved, nibble my ears and make love to me again.'

For the rich it was a halcyon summer. Regardless of the eighteen long years of a war that still showed no prospect of ending, they danced, drank, gambled, dueled, gossiped and flirted. For the middle classes it was a period of increasing strain from shortage of money. More and more merchants went bankrupt and the rest were hard put to it to meet their bills. For the poor, it dragged by, in week after week of ever-greater penury and distress. The harvests had been bad or indifferent for many years in succession, so food was scarce and expensive. Owing to the decline in commerce, many thousands of workers had been laid off from the new factories. In the old days, the country folk had at least had their cottage industries to support them and, in hard times, their lords of the manor had regarded it as a duty to tide them over. But during the past five decades great numbers of workers had migrated to the towns and had become slave labour. The industrialists were hard men arid felt no obligation to give money to hands for whom they could no longer find work. In consequence, the slums teemed with poor, idle, wretches, watching their children starve for lack of a crust.

For that Roger was no more to blame than others of his generation and station, few of whom were even aware of the misery being endured by their fellow men in the Midlands and northern towns.

Old Dan had, as ever, taken good care of Thatched House Lodge and, as Roger had not expected to be in Lisbon for much more than a month, he had kept on his excellent cook-housekeeper, Mrs Muffet. A week after his arrival in London, he again took up his residence there, and sent for Mrs. Marsham and Susan to join him. Every week he rode up to the metropolis and spent two or three nights there, sometimes escorting Georgina to big receptions and dancing the night away; at others with her in the delightful seclusion of her studio out at Kensington.

The war in the Peninsula dragged on. Massena, having withdrawn from Portugal, had left as the fruit of his exhausting nine-month campaign and the loss of twenty-five thousand men, only the great fortresses of Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida. Wellington proceeded to lay siege to the latter, while Massena endeavored to inject new life into his exhausted army in the neighborhood of Salamanca. He had lost nearly all his cavalry and had not enough horses to pull his guns; but he had never lacked courage, and was determined not to let Wellington take Almeida without a fight. Being so heavily handicapped, he appealed to his colleague, Bessieres, who was commanding in the north, for a loan of cavalry and artillery. The younger Marshal came to look on, but brought with him only fifteen hundred horse and a single battery. With some forty thousand men, Massena marched to the relief of Almeida.

On May 5th, he found Wellington, with an army of some six thousand fewer than his own, blocking his path on the heights of Fuentes d'Onoro. A two-day battle ensued. Twice Massena sent his massed columns against the British line; both times the line held. But the Marshal had dispatched a strong column round the southern flank of the British. This forced them to retire, but the French were too exhausted to follow them up and again fell back on Salamanca. A few days later General Brainier, the commander in Almeida, blew up the walls of the city and gallantly cut his way with his garrison through the besiegers. Thus fell the last stronghold held by the French on Portuguese soil.

Meanwhile the Emperor, furious at Massena's having abandoned the attempt to take Lisbon, had appointed the young and ambitious Marmont to supersede him. On the 12th May the great soldier who had held the bastion of Switzerland against the Russians in '98, while Bonaparte was in Egypt, made Napoleon's victory at Marengo possible by holding starving Genoa, played a leading part in a score of victories since and was accounted by the French people second only to the Emperor as a leader of armies, handed over his command. His career was finished.

There followed a series of marches and countermarches. General Beresford, who had been detached to protect the British lines of communication against an attack from, the south, had attempted to re-take Badajoz. Soult came up and the bloodiest battle of the whole war took place. The French lost six thousand men and, of the British army which totaled only eight thousand and narrowly escaped defeat, one out of every two men was either killed or wounded.

Having left a considerable part of his army to watch the French, who were again regrouping in the neighborhood of Salamanca, Wellington marched south, but arrived too late to assist Beresford and, soon afterward, found himself confronted with the combined armies of Soult and Mortier. By stripping Leon and Andalusia of troops, they had mustered an army of sixty-two thousand men, whereas Wellington had only fifty-two thousand. Retiring behind the river Gaya, from June 22nd to the 4th July, with great anxiety, he awaited their attack. It never came. Soult learned that a Spanish army under General Blake was threatening Seville, so he marched away to defend the city that he had hoped to make his capital.

Mortier's army, covering Badajoz, was too strong for there to be any hope of taking the place, so Wellington marched north again and laid siege to Ciudad Rodrigo.

Marmont swiftly assembled his men from their cantonments about Salamanca and arrived on the scene with sixty thousand men, compelling the British to abandon the siege and retire from the frontier. The active Marmont followed them up and in September Wellington was forced to fight two rearguard actions. But the young Marshal did not feel himself strong enough to invade Portugal and, soon afterwards, both armies retired into winter quarters.

That summer, in the north and east, Macdonald was occupied with holding down Catalonia and the long siege of Figueras; while Suchet who had been told by the Emperor that his Marshal's baton lay inside the walls of Saragossa had taken that city and, now a Marshal, continued to dominate Valencia. From Cadiz an Anglo-Portuguese contingent had been dispatched by water down the coast, with the object of taking Victor's army in the rear. It was not large enough for the task, so Victor defeated it, but remained unable to take Cadiz.

All over the Peninsula it was the same frustrating situation for the French. Wherever they were called on to fight, they had to bring up reinforcements from another area, which promptly fell into the hands of the Spaniards who had again to be ejected. It was this Spanish tenacity and gallantry that saved the British from being overwhelmed; for, although Napoleon had three hundred thousand troops in the Peninsula and had lost another one hundred thousand in killed, wounded, prisoners and death from starvation, the French were never able to concentrate a force of more than sixty thousand against Wellington's fifty thousand.

At the end of the London season Roger went to stay with Georgina down at Newmarket and spent the greater part of August there. But it did not prove a happy visit, When Georgina had gone to London earlier in the year. Old K's youngest sister, Lady Amelia, had insisted on moving in to look after her paralyzed brother. She was a dour spinster in her early sixties, and had strongly disapproved of his marriage. Despising deceit and hypocrisy, Georgina did not seek to hide the fact that Roger was her lover, and Lady Amelia regarded it as an outrageous breach of decency that the Duchess should be indifferent to the servants knowing that she received a lover in her room every night. There was nothing Lady Amelia could do about it; but they had to have her with them at every meal and most evenings. This made conversation stilted and created a frigid atmosphere that cast a blight on their happiness.

Roger spent September at Richmond, but few of his friends had returned to London, so time hung heavily on his hands. To begin with he had greatly enjoyed having Susan to live with him, but now the novelty had worn off. She was a charming young girl, and he liked to see her about the place. He often took her riding and bought her expensive presents. But she had never been abroad, took no interest in the war, knew nothing about international affairs and, as yet, had no experience of life. So she made a poor companion for a man of Roger's active, well stocked mind.

At the end of the month Georgina came to London for ten days, and for this brief interval they had the satisfaction of being able to resume their liaison in propitious circumstances. But toward its close they had a disagreement.

For many years past Georgina had been a shining light in high society, and she had innumerable friends. During the autumn it had long been her custom to make a round of visits to the country houses of those with whom she was most intimate, and she felt that she could not possibly break all the engagements she had made during the London season.

This meant that, except for a night or two now and then when passing through London between visits, she would be unable to see Roger until she took up her residence again in Piccadilly shortly before Christmas. The thought of having to get through the best part of three months without her made Roger miserable, and he begged her to excuse herself from some of the invitations she had accepted. But this she refused to do, and said:

'Roger, my dear, you ask too much. Even for you I am not prepared to give up my old friends. And, after all, what is three months? In the past you have at times absented yourself from me for years at a stretch.'

'That is true enough,' he agreed. 'But during those periods I was very fully occupied in serving my country abroad, whereas now I have naught to do that interests me. My life out at Richmond has become deadly dull, and I am sick to death of mooning about, listening to the scandals of the town. Apart from being with you, I have nothing to look forward to except an occasional men's dinner, and I no longer derive much pleasure in consuming more port than is good for me.

'There is a simple solution to your malaise,' Georgina replied. 'The two happiest years of your life were '90 and '91 between the Liberal Revolution in France and the coming of the Terror, when you had temporarily left Mr. Pitt's service and were married to Amanda. You must marry again.'

'My love, I have already told you that I'll not do that, lest your husband dies and you again become free.'

'Roger, in this case 'tis folly to wait for dead men's shoes. The condition of my poor old Duke shows not the slightest change. He may well live to be a hundred. And, did you marry again, it would make no material difference to us. Except when you were wed to Amanda and I to Charles, neither of us has ever been faithful to our spouses. Apart from maintaining happy relations with my friends, I am as free as the wind; and with your subtle mind you'd find no difficulty in inventing plausible excuses to leave your wife now and then, in order that in. secret we could be together for a time.'

Having declared that he would not even consider her suggestion, Roger was unhappily compelled to leave the matter there; and Georgina took her departure for the country.

In October Roger spent a fortnight at Normanrood in Wiltshire, the seat of Droopy's father, the Earl of Ames-bury. His long talks with his best friend were one of Roger's greatest joys; but one of Droopy's was experimenting with Eastern drugs. He had recently discovered a new one which he had begun to take regularly, with the result that on several occasions he lay unconscious for as long as eighteen hours and, on coming round, was muzzy for a considerable time. It was only with difficulty and toward the end of his stay that Roger persuaded his friend to give up this dangerous habit and promise not to drug himself more than once a month in future. Meanwhile, for much of his stay he was thrown on the company of the other members of the house party, none of whom was particularly congenial to him.

He had arranged for the end of his stay to coincide with Georgina's return to London, and they spent two nights together. She then went off to make other visits, and again he had to amuse himself as best he could while living at Richmond.

Bored by his sojourn there, in mid-November he decided to go to Brighton. For a decade or more past, owing to the Prince Regent, it had taken the place of Bath as England's most fashionable watering place. The 'Corinthians', as the young bloods were termed, frequently went down there in their spider like phaetons, making huge wagers on their timing. 'Prinny' had built for himself an exotic palace resembling those of Indian Rajahs. Here the beaux and belles assembled nightly, to dance and gamble. Roger, having been presented on a previous occasion, had the entree and mingled with the gay company.

Although the Prince Regent was not popular with the masses or with the Tory nobility, he was with his own set, who cared little for their country and cheerfully overlooked the fact that he was a most undesirable character. By day Roger amused himself by going to races, cockfights, boxing matches and viewing the activities along the front at Hove, where long terraces of elegant houses were going up. The virtue of most of the ladies in the Prince's set was decidedly easy, and he entered on a brief affair with a fair-haired charmer, by name Mrs. Peggy Wardell; but cut it short to keep another assignation with Georgina in London.

After three days she left again, and once more he tried to settle down at Richmond. Now that it was December, everyone's thoughts were turning to Christmas, so he set about buying presents and preparing for the festive season. But his heart was not in it. He kept on thinking of the months ahead. He was again to spend Christmas as Georgina's guest at Stillwater’s and during the 'little season' in January, he could look forward to a few weeks with her, but what then? She was a splendid horsewoman, so would go to the shires to hunt; and it seemed unlikely that he would see much of her until Kew House was reopened for her at the beginning of May.

It was on an afternoon in mid-December that, while riding in Richmond Park, he witnessed an accident from a distance. A closed carriage and pair was coming in one direction and, from the other, a cabriolet driven at great speed. The lighter vehicle took a corner too sharply and collided with the carriage, taking off one of the wheels; it then overturned in a ditch.

Setting spurs to his mare, Roger galloped over. A young buck was climbing out of the wreckage of the cabriolet, and Roger shouted at him:

'You young fool! You deserve to be horsewhipped for your carelessness.'

The youth, who was unhurt, went red in the face and shouted back, 'Dam'me, Sir. Mind your own business. I've a mind to call you out for that.'

'By God, you'd better not!' Roger roared. 'I can pip an ace at thirty feet. And I eat striplings like you for breakfast. Look to your horse, and make yourself scarce before I trounce you.'

Dismounting, with his arm through the mare's bridle he ran to the carriage. It had heeled over on one side and one window was smashed. The coachman had succeeded in clinging to his box, so was unhurt and was now endeavoring to open the carriage door, which had jammed. With Roger's help he got it open, On the floor inside lay a young woman. Her forehead was bleeding where, when pitched forward, she had cut it on the glass of the shattered window, and she had fainted. As they lifted her out, Roger gave an exclamation of surprise. It was Mary.

Roger told the coachman that he lived nearby, so he would send someone to put the wheel back on the carriage; meanwhile he had better unharness his horse and follow him. He then hoisted the unconscious Mary on to his saddle bow and rode off with her to his house.

On arriving there, she came to when he lifted her down and, with equal surprise, recognised him. Quickly assuring her that the cut on her forehead was only skin deep, and that after an hour or two of rest she would be able to proceed on her way, he carried her inside. There, as Mrs. Marsham and Susan were out visiting friends, he bellowed for his housekeeper, Mrs. Muff et.

Together they got Mary upstairs to a bedroom and laid her on the bed. Leaving Mrs. Muffet to bathe Mary's cut and make her comfortable, Roger went downstairs and sent his gardener, his groom and Dan to get the wheel back on the carriage. Soon afterwards, Mrs. Muffet came down to report that the young lady's condition gave no cause for alarm; upon which Roger told her to bring tea for two in an hour and a half's time, then go up and find out if their guest felt sufficiently recovered to join him, or would prefer to have tea taken up to her.

While the time passed, Roger revived his memories of Lisbon and wondered how Mary had fared since that most distressing night when he had ravished her.

At half past four, Mrs. Muffet came in with a hearty tea; sandwiches, scones, crumpets and cake, and said that the young lady was now feeling quite herself and would shortly come downstairs. A few minutes later Mary came in, looking as pretty as ever, except that her ringlets were partly hidden by a bandage round her forehead.

Roger was far too experienced a man to show any awkwardness, and so embarrass her. Smiling, he advanced to meet her, with both hands outstretched, and said:

'My dear, I'm so glad you sustained no serious injury from your accident, and how glad I am that I was on hand to look after you.'

Returning his smile, she replied, 'It was a horrid moment when I was thrown against the window of the carriage; but I was most fortunate in your coming to my assistance.'

They sat down before the roaring fire and she poured tea for them. Then, glancing round the drawing room, with its rich carpet, graceful Adam furniture and fine china, which Roger had collected through the years, she remarked:

'What a lovely home you have here, Roger.'

Into his mind there flashed the empty months ahead, and Georgina's advice on how best to fill the long intervals when they could not be together. Leaning forward, he said impulsively:

'You like it, Mary? Then why not share it with me? I would love to have you as my wife.

Her mouth fell open. Then she sadly shook her head. 'Oh, Roger, had you only asked me when we were in Lisbon. I have been married these past three months.'

17

A Call of Conscience

Roger suddenly gave a hoarse, unnatural cackle of laughter. Mary stared at him in puzzled dismay, wondering from his totally unexpected proposal followed by this weird reaction if he had gone out of his mind. But recovering quickly, he said:

'I'm sorry, Mary; but I really am beginning to believe that my late wife cursed me before she died. I have since been accused of two murders, and you are the second woman whom I should have liked to marry and who would have liked to marry me, yet could not do so because she had married someone else.'

'Then you have indeed been unfortunate,' Mary commiserated with him. 'And atop of that you were grievous wounded by that brigand. I was told, too, that your wound reopened the night that… that night.'

'Yes. But, as it turned out, that was a fortunate coincidence.'

'Was it?' she questioned. 'Secretly, I formed the belief that you deliberately opened your wound in order to be taken quickly from the house and so spare my feelings.'

He smiled. I’ll admit now that it was so. I had done you a great wrong; and it was the only way I could think of to accede to your wish that you should never set eyes on me again.'

'You are a very gallant gentleman, Roger. I did not deserve such consideration, for I realise now that I brought what happened upon myself.'

'It would not have happened had it not been for your cousin, George Gunston. Out of hatred for me, he led me to believe that you had already had several lovers, and himself among them one afternoon in a punt up the Thames. Believing that, and attracted to you as I was, I'd have been a poor sort of man had I not sought to have you pleasure me too.'

Her smooth forehead creased into a frown. 'So that is what led you to it. You were, then, right about George. What a blackguard he must be. I will admit, though, that there was a basis for his story of the punt. He is a handsome, dashing fellow and I was attracted to him; so, one afternoon, I did allow him some liberties and repulsed him only when he attempted to go too far. I fear I have been given an over passionate nature.'

'Nay, Mary, I'd not subscribe to that. There is a big difference between passion and lust, and you are no victim of the latter. A natural warmth in a woman is a gift of the gods, enabling her to make happy the men she cares for, and in doing so derive much happiness herself. Do you know what has happened to Gunston?'

'As far as I am aware, he is still in Portugal.'

'In that case, as the war there shows no sign of ending, it may be several years before I run across him again. When I do, he'll find himself faced with a heavy bill to pay for what he did to us.'

'No, Roger, please. No good could come of your calling him out, and you might be injured yourself did fortune not favour you. Let bygones be bygones. Instead, let us rejoice that, owing to this chance meeting, we are again friends.'

While they were talking, they had begun their tea. Roger buttered a crumpet for her, put it on her plate and said, 'Tell me now about your husband. What manner of man is he?'

She shrugged. 'He's well enough. 'Tis an irony that you should have declined to marry me because you considered yourself too old, for he is a year or two older than yourself and, both in mind and body, gives the impression of being still older. But he is kind, considerate and has ample money. He is a Mr. Jeremiah Wicklow, a merchant in the City and trades mainly with cities in the Baltic'

Roger raised an eyebrow. 'So you married into trade? That distresses me for you, as I fear it unlikely that many of your acquaintances will have proved willing to receive your husband.'

She sighed. 'In that, alas, you are right. One could not expect them to. 'Tis a sad come down for the daughter of an Earl, but beggars cannot be choosers. Since I left Mrs. Hoitot's Academy, friends I made there, like Deborah, have been most kind to me. But one could not expect them to continue having me to stay indefinitely. The only alternative to marriage was to become the companion of some old woman, and be at her beck and call day and night. I preferred to stomach a man, providing he was of a pleasant and upright character, even if I had no love for him. And, that being so, it behoved me to keep an eye out for one while I still had my youth as an attraction. I was seated next to Mr. Wicklow at a dinner in the City, given for charity. I have never concealed my circumstances and when he questioned me about myself, I told him of them freely. He had recently been widowed and, no doubt, the thought of having a woman of title for his second wife appealed to him. Before the evening was out, he proposed to me. I said I'd take a week to think on it, then joined him one afternoon for a dish of tea at his house in Trinity Square, hard by the Tower of London. Finding it commodious and furnished with good, solid pieces that indicated him to be a man of some fortune, I accepted him.'

'If I may, I'd like to call upon you there,' Roger said after a moment.

Smiling, she shook her head. 'No, Roger; I'd liefer you did not. I know where that would end. We would again go to bed together. And City merchants are very different from the people of our class. There are few complaisant husbands among them, or others who, feeling themselves outraged if their wives take lovers, cover their own mortification by fighting a duel on some pretext such as a quarrel over cards. Did Mr. Wicklow discover that I was unfaithful to him he would put me out into the gutter. Besides, I feel I owe it to him to be an honest wife.'

For a moment Roger had contemplated resuming his affaire with her; but he was quick to see the soundness of her objection and felt respect for her principles. Realising that it would be a wicked thing to jeopardize the security she had achieved, he refrained from endeavoring to persuade her to alter her mind, and changed the conversation by asking:

'Whither were you bound when that young fool wrecked your carriage?'

'To spend the night with cousins of Mr. Wicklow at Surbiton; and, if it be possible, I should soon now be on my way again.'

Roger stood up. 'I am loath to let you go. But by this time my people should have repaired the wheel. I'll go and find out.'

A few minutes later he returned to say that her carriage was at the door, her coachman had been given a meal, her horse watered and fed and was now being put between the shafts. Before leaving the room, he kissed her lightly on the cheek and wished her good fortune. Leading her out with the propriety he would have observed had they been strangers, he handed her into the carriage and watched her being driven away.

Two days later Roger received a letter from the Marquess Wellesley, saying that he wished to see him; so he rode up to London and called at the Foreign Office. In view of the Marquess' haughty nature and retiring manner, he received Roger with unusual affability. After waving him to a seat, he said:

'Mr. Brook, having been a member of Bonaparte's personal entourage for so long, I take it you are well acquainted with Marshal Bernadotte, who a little above a year ago became Prince Royal of Sweden?'

'I have, of course, met him casually many times at receptions and so forth, my lord,' Roger replied. 'But I could not say I know him well.'

'But you do know him?' the Marquess insisted. 'I mean, should you meet him again, he would at once recognize you as one of Bonaparte's people?'

'Oh certainly, my lord; and I have known his wife since she was a young girl. She was daughter to a wealthy silk merchant of Marseilles, and is an old friend of mine.'

'Good! Good! Now tell me, how well are you informed of affairs in Sweden?'

'I know little about them, as for a long time past I have not been the confidant of anyone having access to secret intelligence.'

'In that case I must bring you up-to-date. On the Marshal's becoming, for all practical purposes, the ruler of Sweden, Bonaparte demanded that he should close all Swedish ports to British shipping, threatening, should he refuse, to invade Sweden. Bernadotte was most averse to doing so, because wars have reduced Sweden to a very poor country, and her only hope of recovery lies in a continuation of her commerce. But he has some reputation for duplicity, and hi this matter resorted to it. He told Bonaparte that he would comply with his wishes, then secretly informed our merchant captains that while he could not any longer countenance their bringing cargoes to Sweden, he was anxious to receive British goods conveyed in American bottoms.'

Roger smiled. 'There has never been any love lost between Bernadotte and Bonaparte. I felt certain that he would not allow the Emperor to make a puppet of him.'

'He is far from becoming that, as is clearly demonstrated by a more recent matter. In June last Bonaparte demanded that Sweden should join him in his war against Britain. Again the Prince Royal complied and, as you may know, Sweden and Britain have since been officially at war. But before giving our Charge d'Affaires, Mr. Augustus Foster, his conge, Bernadotte informed him that we should pay no regard to the declaration, as he did not intend to take any hostile action against us.'

The Marquess took snuff, then went on, 'Now let us consider the situation in Russia. The friendship entered on at Tilsit between His Imperial Majesty the Czar and Bonaparte, is long since over. It cooled at Erfurt and is now moribund. You are doubtless aware that under the great Catherine, the Russian nobility adopted French culture, but ever since the reign of our Queen Elizabeth they have had commercial relations with us. During the past two centuries, our trade with Russia has increased a thousand-fold. They have no industry and have become almost entirely dependent on us for manufactured goods of every description. Thus, did they cease to receive them, it would cause almost unbearable hardship among all classes of their people. Bonaparte has brought all possible pressure on his ally to subscribe to his Continental System; but the welfare of his subjects being uppermost in the Czar's mind, he has constantly refused to do so. This has angered the Corsican to such a degree that, I am now informed, he contemplates invading Russia.'

Roger smiled again. "That is indeed good news, my lord. The Russians are most redoubtable fighters. Their armies alone, among the Continental nations, have successfully stood up to Napoleon. At Eylau they brought his advance to a halt, and although he defeated them at Friedland, they made him pay most dearly for his victory. Tis a mighty long march from the Niemen to Moscow, and only by taking that city can he hope to crush them. Such a campaign could, at long last, prove his ruin.'

'That, Mr. Brook, is also my view, and we must spare no effort to bring it about. I therefore have it in mind to follow in the footsteps of our great master, Billy Pitt, and endeavour to form a new Coalition. Sweden could play a most valuable part if she could be persuaded to become Russia's ally and ours. Do you not agree?'

'I do, my lord. But 'twould be no easy matter to bring that about. Sweden is still smarting from defeat in her recent war, as a result of which she was compelled to cede the Grand Duchy of Finland to the Czar; so I do not see the Swedes taking kindly to the thought of entering into an alliance with him.'

'True; but he will require all the aid he can secure if he is to defeat Bonaparte. So, for Sweden's help he might be willing to return Finland or, at least, make the Swedes valuable concessions. As I am dubious about the wisdom of approaching the Czar direct, I propose to send an envoy to the Swedes with the object of persuading them to become the link between ourselves and Russia. And I very much hope, Mr. Brook, that you will agree to become that envoy.'

For some while, Roger had been expecting this, so he replied at once, 'I must beg your Lordship to excuse me. I have spent half my life on the Continent, and am resolved not to return there on further missions.'

The Marquess looked down his high-bridged nose for a moment, then raised his eyes and held Roger's intently.

'Mr. Brook, you said that to me before you left for Portugal. My brother, Wellington, informed me later that you said much the same to him; yet you changed your mind and, on two occasions, rendered him most important services. I pray you change your mind again.¹

Roger put up a protesting hand. 'My lord, the circumstances were different. On the first occasion a private matter made it necessary for me to leave Lisbon overnight. And on the second, it near as could be cost me my life, I am determined not to risk it again.'

'In this case you would not have to. You would present yourself to the Prince Royal as an old comrade-in-arms who, like himself, has decided to leave Bonaparte's service and only later, at a propitious moment, reveal yourself to be an emissary of Britain.'

'To harbour under my French identity for long might not prove possible. I have been in Stockholm before. Admittedly that was many years ago, in the time of Gustavus III; but there must still be people there who might recognize me, and I went there as an Englishman.'

'Come, Mr. Brook. Having lived as two persons for the whole of your adult life, there must have been many previous occasions when such contretemps occurred; yet those quick wits of yours enabled you to bluff your way out of them. It must be that, having been home for eight months or so, you have developed new interests here and are set against giving them up. Or, perhaps, you are contemplating matrimony?'

'No,' Roger admitted. 'Neither is the case.' 'All the more reason then that you should go on this mission. This invasion of Russia that Bonaparte is preparing to launch may well be his last throw. Having watched his rise, and seen him turn Europe into a bloodbath, surely you would like to be in at the death and take a hand in bringing about his fall?'

'You have something there, my lord,' Roger smiled, 'but I'd be fully content to read about his downfall in The Times.'

The Marquess sighed. 'You are plaguey difficult to persuade, Mr. Brook; but I'll not give up. I pray you to consider one fact which cannot be contested. In London nay, in all Britain there is not a single man other than yourself who is qualified to carry out this mission by presenting himself at the Swedish Court as a distinguished French officer who is no longer willing to serve Bonaparte. You are unique in that respect. Did I send even the most accomplished diplomat at my disposal, he could hope only for one, or at the most two, interviews with the Prince Royal; whereas you would be made welcome by him and have ample time to inform yourself of the lie of the land and his present attitude toward France, Britain and Russia, before making your proposal.

'And, think you upon the mighty issue that is at stake. This brigand Corsican has convulsed all Europe, brought death, starvation and misery to a million homes, and is now intent on bringing about yet further wholesale slaughter. 'Tis you who have a better chance than any other man of making this coming war the last for many years to come. God may have put it into your hands to restore peace to an unhappy world.'

To this moving plea Roger could find no answer. He simply said, 'I shall require a lettre de marque, my lord, to prove to the Prince Royal that I am an accredited envoy of the British Government, and it should be in such terms that, if taken from me, will give no clue to the purpose of my mission. May I suggest it should be like one with which Mr. Pitt furnished me long ago, which read, "The bearer knows my views upon this matter and speaks with my authority."'

'It shall be as you wish,' the Marquess nodded. 'And I can find no words to thank you adequately. When would you be ready to start?'

'I shall need a few days to make my preparations. Shall we say one day next week?'

'By all means. I will arrange a passage for you. I will also order my cashier to furnish you with ample funds. Ask him for any sum in reason and do not stint yourself. You may need money for bribes.'

On reaching the street, Roger turned into St. James's Park, and walked there for a while, considering the possible hazards that he might encounter on his new mission. Reluctant as he had at first been to accept it, now that he was committed he felt a pleasurable excitement. At least it would terminate his present frustrating existence, and again enable him to employ his active brain.

As it was still early in the afternoon, on leaving the Park he hailed a sedan chair and had himself carried to his jeweller's in Jermyn Street. There he had an assistant produce for him a book illustrating all the European Orders of Chivalry, pointed out the Swedish Order of Crossed Swords and ordered the decoration to be made for him, stipulating that it must be ready within four days. Strolling round the corner, he went into White's and wrote a note to Georgina, telling her that he was shortly going abroad again and urging her to come up to London as soon as she possibly could. He then took it to the coach office in Piccadilly and dispatched it so that she should receive it the following morning.

That evening he broke to Susan the news that he would soon be leaving her for a while, and said that business connected with the de Pombal estate again required his presence in Lisbon. Next day he again rode up to London and completed the purchase of his Christmas presents. That evening, as he had hoped, Georgina returned to Kew House. Later, out at her studio, he told her about his new commitment.

She had had to say good bye to him so many times in the past that she showed no special distress, particularly as on this mission it did not appear as though he was going into any great danger and he would not be away for more than a few weeks.

Looking back on the past eight months, they agreed that they had been disappointing. Things would have been very different had they been able to marry. But that had been out of the question and there seemed no prospect of their being able to do so for a long time to come. When he gave her an account of Mary's accident and his subsequent talk with her, Georgina said:

'She seems a much more pleasant young woman than the first impression I formed of her. What a pity she married this man Wicklow. Poor girl; she is, I fear, condemned to lead a most dreary life and she would have made just the wife for you.'

Roger shrugged. 'Yes, I think she would; and with your dear self to bear me company at every suitable opportunity, in this our paradise, I'd have been as happy as a sand boy. But fate has decreed otherwise and, although little Mary is gone out of my life for good, still having you to cherish me I've no grounds for complaint.'

Of the next five nights he spent only one the last out at Richmond, completing his packing and handing out presents labeled 'not to be opened until Christmas Day'. Early on the morning of December 22nd he left for Tilbury. With a new money belt round his waist, containing gold pieces in several currencies, a few small diamonds and the lettre de marque, he went aboard an American freighter. The ship sailed on the evening tide.

During the short December day it had rained on and off but, as the barque dropped down the Thames, a wind got up and the sky cleared except for scudding clouds that, every few minutes, blacked out the moon. In the estuary the sea was choppy and, by the time they cleared the Nore, the ship was pitching unpleasantly as she fought her way forward. When she altered course to nor' eastward, Roger was awakened by a heavy wave slopping against the side of his cabin and thought unhappily that, as it was mid-winter, they were probably in for a bad voyage.

His fears proved only too well founded. During the days that followed, the North Sea was at its most horrible. The ship was tossed about like the plaything of a giant. She rolled and wallowed in the troughs of the great waves, then was carried sky-high to hover on their summits before cascading down another slope. The timbers creaked, clothes hanging from pegs in the cabins swung slowly to and fro like pendulums, alternately flapping against the bulkheads and standing away from them at an acute angle. Occasionally there came a loud crash as some object fell to the deck, then slithered across it.

For three days the ship ran bare-masted before the storm. Roger had always been a bad sailor, and throughout this time was as sick as a dog. He vomited until he was as empty as a drum, yet continued to retch in agony. His eyes watered, saliva ran hot in his mouth, a child could have pushed him over. He became incapable of coherent thought and would not have minded had the ship gone down.

On the fourth day the fury of the storm lessened sufficiently for her topsails and jib to be set, and Roger staggered up on deck. His clothes uncared for, his hair awry, his cheeks and chin dark with a three-day growth of bristles, he stood clutching a stanchion as he stared out across the grey-green waste. For as far as he could see, an endless succession of white-caps broke the surface, tossing up little jets of spray. No other vessel was in sight, no smudge of land was to be seen on the horizon, no indication of whether the ship was on her course or had been driven off it.

It was bitterly cold and began to rain. Soon it was coming down in torrents. Soaked to the skin, Roger staggered down to the saloon. The Captain of the barque happened to be there. He was a hard-bitten Yankee from Nantucket, who disliked the British; but when, white faced and ill, Roger had staggered to a settee and collapsed upon it, the lean American brought over a tot of rum, lifted Roger's head and forced him to swallow the liquid.

The fiery spirit burned its way into his vitals and made him cough until he feared he was going to choke; but after a while he began to feel a little bit better, and managed to get down two ships' biscuits. As the early darkness closed in, it began to blow great guns again. By then, Roger had crawled back to his cabin. As he lay down on the still rolling bunk, he was overcome by another fit of nausea and spewed up the little he had eaten.

Next day the weather improved sufficiently for more sail to be set, but a blustering wind continued, accompanied by gusts of driving rain. Roger's bouts of actual vomiting had ceased, but he still felt queasy and his stomach was sore from the strain that had been put on its muscles. It was not until the barque had turned east, passed the Skaw of Denmark and was buffeting her way through the Skagerrak that he managed to pull himself together enough to make the effort required to shave and dress himself properly.

Christmas Day had passed unnoticed and it was New Year's Eve when the barque dropped anchor in Gothenburg harbour. Although it was already dark, Roger had himself rowed ashore. The town lay under a pall of snow, and enough light was reflected from it by a waning moon to see the old, timbered houses almost as clearly as hi daytime. The glow of then lighted windows spoke of warmth and comfort within, but outside the temperature was far below zero and Roger was thankful when the coach he had hired at the dock pulled up in the yard of a big inn.

On going inside he saw that the Christmas decorations were still up and the place was crowded with people drinking beer and schnapps. They were starting to celebrate the New Year, but he felt too weak and ill to mingle later with them and join in the revelry. He ordered hot punch, bread and honey to be sent up to his room, ate while he undressed; then, with a sigh of thankfulness, climbed into a bed that had on it a feather eiderdown a foot thick. As he lay there, he still felt the motion of the ship and seemed to be rocking gently from side to side, but the hot posset and the honey had soothed his raw stomach and he fell into a deep sleep. Even the bells of Gothenburg, clamorously ringing in the year 1812, failed to wake him.

He spent the whole of the next day in bed, slowly recovering from his ghastly voyage, and took the opportunity to have his suit well brushed and pressed. On purpose he had brought only the one with him, and very few things, for to have done otherwise could have given away the story he meant to tell of how he had happened to arrive in Gothenburg. He had lost over a stone in weight, and when he looked in the mirror, decided that the patches of grey hair above his ears had perceptibly increased during the past year; but that had been partly due to what he had been through while in the hands of O Diabo. However, there were as yet no wrinkles on his face, except for the laughter lines at the corners of his mouth, and his bright blue eyes were as keen as ever.

The following day he felt much more like his old self. Going out into the town he bought himself a pair of roomy, wool-lined boots, a bearskin coat, a sea-otter papenka, a sheepskin rug, warm stockings and underclothes, returned to the inn to pack, then took the seat he had booked in the diligence leaving for Stockholm.

He had dreaded the two-hundred-and-fifty-mile journey, but need not have done so. Unlike Britain, in which occasional periods of very cold weather cause the people much suffering and inconvenience, the Swedes had long since learned how to protect themselves during their long, bitter winters. For the whole way the roadsides were piled high with packed snow, so that the diligence seemed to be travelling through a long, winding gully, but there were no hold-ups, because the centre of the road was kept clear by relays of men from the towns and villages. Every ten miles or so fresh, flat, metal hot water containers were put in to warm the passengers' feet, and the meals at the inns on the way were passably good. Roger's only complaint would have been that, not long after each halt, the interior of the vehicle became abominably stuffy, because the windows were kept hermetically sealed.

On the evening of January 5th, he arrived in Stockholm and put up at the Reindeer's Head. Next morning he had himself driven out to the Castle. The scenery on the way there was enchanting. Snowflakes sparkled in the winter sunshine on the feathery branches of the pines and larches. Between the clusters of trees there were frozen lakes with colourfully-dressed people skating or being pushed in sleighs on them, while groups of laughing children attacked or defended snow forts and pelted one another with snowballs. But the Castle proved a grim, grey pile and Roger wondered, a shade apprehensively, how Bernadotte would receive him.

Having been passed from, the sergeant of the guard to an adjutant, he sent up his name as Colonel Count de Breuc. He was kept waiting only ten minutes, then taken up a broad flight of stone stairs and along a gloomy corridor to which the light scarcely penetrated. There was no sentry on the door of the Prince Royals cabinet and Roger was shown straight into it. The room was quite small, and filled with maps and books, some of which were even piled on the floor. The tall, handsome ex-Marshal of the Empire was now wearing the much less decorative plain blue uniform of a Swedish Field Marshal. On his broad chest there was not a single decoration.

As Roger entered, Bernadotte rose from his littered desk, smiled, held out his hand and said, Mon cher Colonel. What a pleasant surprise. How do you come to be here?'

Roger returned the smile and replied, 'I come from England, Your Royal Highness. I was taken prisoner in the Peninsula while with the Marshal Duke of Dalmatia's army. From Lisbon I was sent to the Isle of Wight; but, as I speak English fluently, I managed to escape and stowed away in an American freighter that was lying in Southampton Roads. At the time I had no idea whither she was bound, and she landed me at Gothenburg six days since. Finding myself in Sweden, I felt it only proper to pay my respects to Your Royal Highness.'

There was only one other chair in the room, and it was occupied by a young Military Secretary. Bernadotte signed to him to leave the room and said to Roger, 'Sit down and tell me all you can of how things are going both with Soult and in England.'

Spreading his coat-tails, Roger took the chair. 'Of the Marshal I can tell Your Royal Highness little, as it is some ten months since I was captured. Then he had repelled Wellington from Badajoz and was again lording it in Seville as the uncrowned King of Andalusia.'

'And what, pray, were you doing serving in his army? I thought you to be a permanent member of the Emperor's staff. Had you fallen into disgrace with him?'

'No. He sent me with verbal orders for the Marshal Duke, that he did not care to trust to an ordinary courier in a written despatch,' Roger stated, knowing that Bernadotte had no means of checking up the lie. 'But Your Royal Highness can have no idea how terrible are conditions in Spain. The Spanish Generals are hopelessly incompetent, but their troops are fanatically brave. By their constant attacks they keep our forces penned into a number of comparatively small areas. Outside them the country swarms with irregulars and bandits. Any Frenchman who falls into their hands would be better off had he a passport straight to hell. The tortures they employ are positively fiendish. It was my proper duty to report back as soon as possible to the Emperor. But the Marshal Duke could not spare an escort of sufficient strength to ensure me a safe passage through hostile territory; so bade me remain with him as one of his staff, which I did until I was taken prisoner.'

'And what of England?'

'Of that I had little opportunity to find out; but, from the gossip of camp guards, I gathered that the pig-headed British are determined to fight on, whatever the cost, until they finally best His Imperial Majesty, although they are suffering much hardship from bad harvests and the effect of the Continental System.'

Bernadotte nodded. 'I judge you right in that. And now, I take it, you wish me to send you back to France?'

'May it please Your Royal Highness, I would liefer that you did not,' Roger replied with a shake of the head. 'Like yourself, having followed the Eagles through so many campaigns, I am monstrous lucky still to have my life and limbs. But I am now sickened by the state of things. With England continuing to raise new armies for milord Wellington, Spain a bloody cockpit and north Germany seething with unrest, I see no prospect of peace for years to come. And for what are such miseries being inflicted on the people of many nations? Solely for the Emperor's personal glory. I have made up my mind to serve him no longer. And, chance having brought me to Sweden, I am wondering if Your Royal Highness could find a use for me?'

Bernadotte's fine eyes lit up. 'I could, indeed. But are you prepared to forgo your French citizenship and accept Swedish nationality, as I have done?'

'Perhaps.' Roger appeared to hesitate. 'But I pray you give me time to consider the matter.'

'That I will do. In the meantime, I could not give you a commission in the Swedish Army. But I can attach you to my person and make good use of your knowledge and experience. As you are probably aware, owing to the folly, nay madness, of King Gustavus IV, the Swedish Army suffered most grievously when it fought against Russia in an attempt to retain Finland. I found it in a most shocking state; its morale at the lowest ebb, the men ill-disciplined, their uniforms in rags and seriously lacking equipment lost in battle. Since I assumed command I have spared no effort to weld it again into a force capable of defending this country. One by one I am summoning regiments to Stockholm and here give them a week's training myself. You could assist me in that.'

'I would willingly do so, Your Royal Highness; but, alas, doubt my capabilities for such work. Having never served with a regiment in peace or war, my knowledge of the barrack square and tactics in the field is very limited.'

'No matter,' Bernadotte replied quickly. 'I've thought of a way in which you can serve me still better. You have accompanied the Emperor on many of his campaigns, have had every opportunity of observing his methods of waging war, and must be highly competent in the matter of staff duties. I will make you an instructor. In a series of lectures to my senior officers you shall describe the battles you have participated in, and the means by Which the Emperor has achieved his victories.'

Roger readily agreed, then enquired after Her Royal Highness the Princess Desiree.

Bernadotte's face clouded. 'Alas, my wife found life here most uncongenial. She is the sweetest person in the world, but from you I'll make no secret of it. She was not brought up to be a great lady at a Court, and her naturalness was ill-regarded at times by Queen Charlotte and many of the narrow-minded nobility here; so she made few friends. Moreover, as a woman of warm southern blood, she found the freezing winter here near-insupportable, so I allowed her to go back to Paris. In due course she will rejoin me and meanwhile I am consoled for her absence by the presence here of my son, now Duke of Sodermanland.'

'I recall him as a handsome boy with charming manners,' Roger volunteered.

'Yes, I am very proud of him. By instinct he always seems to do or say the right thing. He is most intelligent and progressing admirably with his studies. He loves it here, and is very popular with his new countrymen. But now I have much to do, so you must excuse me. Accommodation will, of course, be provided for you in the Castle; you will dine with us tonight and I will present you to Their Majesties.'

Roger warmly thanked his new master, who then rang for his secretary and gave him his instructions. The secretary handed his charge over to an adjutant, who took Roger to a Mess, introduced him to several other officers there and furnished him with a drink. An hour later his single valise had been fetched from the inn and he was settling into his new quarters, delighted with this propitious opening to his mission.

In the evening he was duly presented to the Royal Family. Old King Charles looked very feeble, his hands shook and he mumbled so that it was difficult to understand what he was saying. Queen Charlotte appeared to be a vigorous, determined woman. She received Roger coldly, no doubt when told that he was to join them, expecting one of Napoleon's ill-bred, jumped-up Revolutionaries; but later, when she found him to have charming manners and be accustomed to Court etiquette, she thawed out considerably. The aged Dowager Queen,

Sophia Magdalena, spoke little and gave the impression that she rarely roused herself from memories of the unhappy life she had led. There was also an ugly, elderly sister of the King, Princess Sophia Albertina. She looked half mad, which recalled to Roger the fate of other members of the family. Queen Sophia Magdalena's husband and her son had practically ruined their kingdom, the latter had been placed under restraint as a lunatic, and the old woman's grandson was in exile in Switzerland, having been passed over by the magnates for the succession because they believed him to have inherited the family strain of madness.

In the circumstances, Roger was not surprised that they should all resent Bernadotte a man they considered to have been a nobody being forced upon the King as his adopted son. Or that poor little Desiree the silk merchant's daughter should have been so ill-received by them.

Apart from these Royalties, only ladies and gentlemen-in-waiting were present and, although Roger endeavoured to enliven the conversation by giving fictitious accounts of his doings in Spain and of how, as a prisoner of war in England, he had succeeded in escaping, dinner proved a gloomy meal.

He soon settled down to his new role. Even the most haughty and hidebound among the Swedish aristocracy had by this time succumbed to the handsome Gascon who, in all but name, was their new ruler. The manner |n which he had sacrificed his great personal fortune to pay" Sweden's debts had greatly impressed them. The members of the Diet praised him for the sound reforms he proposed to them and for working from fifteen to eighteen hours a day on the nation's problems, and both officers and men admired him as a hero and General.

In consequence, far from resenting a foreigner being sent to instruct them, the senior officers of the Army welcomed their Prince Royal’s friend, Colonel Count Breuc, and listened eagerly to his descriptions of the campaigns which had carried Napoleon on waves of victory from one end of Europe to the other.

Stockholm, so aptly termed the 'Venice of the North', is one of the loveliest cities in the world, and in his off duty hours Roger greatly enjoyed parties that were made up to go on excursions to the islands, or to skate and toboggan. A few elderly people remarked that his face was vaguely familiar, and said they thought they had met him before, but it was over twenty years since he had been in Stockholm, so he had no difficulty in persuading them that they were mistaken.

But he found the atmosphere of the huge Castle very depressing. At night it was so cold that he had to pile all his furs on top of his eiderdown to keep warm. Its long, uncarpeted corridors were tunnels of unceasing draughts, the narrow windows in the thick, stone walls barely lit them even at midday, and the furniture was mediaeval. In addition the winter days were so short that one seemed almost to be living in perpetual night. He did not wonder that little Desiree Clary had hated it.

He saw Bernadotte every day and, at times, was even consulted by him on various problems and asked his opinion of the fitness of officers he was instructing to hold their commands. Every week or so he was invited to dine with the Royal Family, and became quite a favourite of the willful Queen.

But, as time went on, he became more and more dubious of his chances of succeeding in his mission. The late war with Russia was still very much in everyone's mind. Many of his new acquaintances had lost husbands, sons or brothers in it, and the loss of Finland had struck at the very heart of the Swedish nation. Nearly everyone was hoping that a time would come when Russia was heavily engaged elsewhere, so that there would be a chance of winning back the Grand Duchy.

Unlikely as it now seemed that he would be able to persuade Bernadotte to enter into an alliance with the hated Russians, Roger felt that he could not possibly abandon the task he had been given without at least attempting to carry it out. And time was creeping on. Toward the end of February he decided that he must risk disclosing his true identity; so, on the next occasion when he was invited to an intimate family dinner, he pinned on his chest the Star of the Swedish Order of Crossed Swords, which he had had made in London.

Immediately he entered the salon, Bernadotte noticed it. Frowning, he marched up to Roger and demanded angrily, 'Colonel, what right have you to wear that Order?'

Roger bowed and replied, 'I wear it because I am entitled to do so, Your Royal Highness. And if you will do me the honour to grant me a private audience later this evening, I shall be happy to inform you of the reason why I was decorated with it.'

18

Caught in the Toils Once More

Conversation at the royal dinner table was always stilted. The palsied old King sat between the two Queens. Sometimes his food had to be cut up for him, he slobbered as he ate and occasionally mumbled something. The Queen Dowager never made a remark to anyone and, for most of the time, kept her sunken, black-rimmed eyes on her plate. Next to her, the half-witted Princess Sophia Albertina now and then gabbled out a few sentences or cackled with laughter. On the other side of Queen Charlotte, Bernadotte ate quickly, evidently anxious to get back to his work and thinking of it. The Queen alone kept the conversation going, as it was not etiquette for anyone to speak to the Royals unless spoken to.

The five Royals sat at a raised table on a low dais. Each of them had a lord- or lady-in-waiting and these, with such guests as had been invited, sat at two tables at right angles to the royal board. They talked together in low voices, but there were rarely more than three or four guests and those mainly regular ones, so the subjects discussed tended to lack variety.

Roger had always found these dinners boring and that night he wished more than ever that he had been in livelier company which would have distracted his thoughts with jokes and laughter. As he ploughed through his salmon, reindeer steak and portion of goose, he wondered if he had really been wise to make use of the Order of Crossed Swords when asking for this all-important private interview with Bernadotte.

The idea had occurred to him when he had first thought over his mission; because, as was not surprising, after eighteen years of war the great majority of Frenchmen had a rooted dislike of the English and Roger had felt that his Swedish decoration would help to offset any prejudice against his nationality that Bernadotte might have. But now he was not so certain. By wearing a decoration to which it could be assumed he was not entitled, he had obviously put the Prince Royal in a bad temper. That would make for a far from propitious opening to a difficult interview, which might have most unpleasant consequences.

His danger, as he had realised from the beginning, lay in the fact that, although Bernadotte had recently become a Swede and was doing everything possible to make his new compatriots regard him as one, he must at heart still be a Frenchman. The fact that, as a staunch Republican he had always distrusted Napoleon and was now refusing to aid in furthering his schemes, made no difference. The Emperor was only a person who symbolized a certain form of government; he was not France. And Roger must shortly confess that he had been constantly betraying the interests of France for many years. That might quite possibly lead to his being clapped in a dungeon for an indefinite period, so he was now contemplating the coming interview with some trepidation.

At last the dinner was over. On the arm of the Queen, the old King tottered into the adjacent salon, followed in strict order of precedence by all the others. With the exception of Bernadotte and Roger, the company seated itself round a fire which, although large, warmed only a segment of the large, lofty room. Bernadotte then bowed to the King and Queen and said:

'Your Majesties, I beg you to excuse me and Colonel Count Breuc from further attendance on you. There is a matter upon which I am anxious to speak to him without delay.'

The bleary-eyed King nodded. The Queen replied graciously, 'As you wish, dear son. The loss of your company is the price we have to pay for the wonderful work you are doing for us.' Then she held up her head and turned it slightly, to receive his kiss on her painted cheek.

Roger gave thanks for his dinner, wished the company good night and bowed himself out backward after Bernadotte. In the ante-room they took from a rack the voluminous fur cloaks that they always put on to protect themselves from the icy chill when making their way along the passages. With a quick, firm step Bernadotte led the way to his Cabinet and sat down behind his littered desk. He did not ask Roger to be seated, but staring at him fixedly, said in a harsh voice:

'Now, explain if you can. I find it impossible to believe that you are entitled to wear that Order, and to do so is one of the grossest pieces of impertinence I have ever encountered.'

With an air of self-confidence that he was far from feeling, Roger laughed. 'Were it not to wager on a certainty, I'd deprive Your Royal Highness of a tidy sum, if you were willing to back your conviction. King Gustavus III honoured me with this decoration for services I rendered His Majesty during the war he fought against Catherine of Russia.'

'But that was twenty years ago! You can have been but a boy.'

'True. It was in '88 and I was scarce out of my teens. I pray you, though, consult the records of the Order. There Your Royal Highness will find my name, not as de Breuc, but as Mr. Roger Brook.'

Bernadotte frowned. 'What means this mystery ?' it is generally believed in France that I was born in Strasbourg of an English lady married to a Frenchman, and sent after her death to her sister, Lady Marie Brook, to be educated in England. The truth is that Lady Marie was my mother and my father was Admiral Sir Christopher Brook.'

You astound me. In fact then, you are an Englishman, although long a confidant of the Emperor. To which country did you play the traitor?'

To neither in the fullest sense. I served England when ever her interests were involved, but I have never fought against British troops. I have, as you well know, fought against France's other enemies, and rendered her many valuable services, including having once saved the Emperor's life though I now regret it.' The tale you told me of having been a prisoner in the: of Wight was, then, untrue. What was your real purpose in coming to Sweden?'

Smiling, Roger produced the lettre de marque and placed it on the desk. 'I come as an Envoy Extraordinary, confer with Your Royal Highness, and with author to enter into negotiations with you on behalf of my country.'

Having read the document, Bernadotte said, 'This is not signed by your Prime Minister.' No. The signature is that of the Marquess Wellesley. Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs and brother to our foremost General, milord Wellington, he has a greater say in our relations with other countries than Mr. Perceval, who is an amiable but not particularly forceful man.' 'Even so, as Sweden is at war with England, your mission cannot be regarded as official. I should be within my rights if I made you a prisoner.'

'I am aware of that. But Your Royal Highness will not so, because it is not in Sweden's interest. The Emperor has more than once threatened to invade Sweden. I am empowered to offer you an alliance with England. Do you accept it a British fleet could enter the Baltic and thwart Napoleon's intentions.'

For a moment Bernadotte considered, then said a trifle grudgingly, 'You may be seated. Tell me now, what price does England require Sweden to pay for such protection?'

Roger bowed and sat down. 'That she should put an end to her animosity toward Russia and form an alliance with her for the purpose of assisting in Napoleon's defeat. In return, England would also furnish arms for the Swedish Army, which is still so ill-equipped, and pay a large subsidy which would enable Your Royal Highness to raise further regiments.'

'The Czar might not agree. As is the case with Sweden, he is still formally allied to France.'

'Yes, formally. But the alliance now hangs only by a thread that will soon be snapped. As Your Royal Highness must be aware, for many months past the Emperor has been mustering his legions for the invasion of Russia.'

'Certainly I know it. My intelligence service would be poor indeed did I not.'

'Then it is evident to Your Royal Highness that, when the crisis comes, the Czar will need all the help he can get.'

'True. But to antagonize the Emperor and risk all on his being defeated is no light matter. What return, think you, would the Czar be willing to make if Sweden took this gamble?'

Roger shrugged. That, Your Royal Highness, I cannot say, but it should be considerable. Perhaps he might agree to return Finland.'

'I greatly doubt that; and, although my compatriots would give much to get the Grand Duchy back, I have no mind to press for it.' Turning in his chair, Bernadotte pointed to a map on the wall and went on, 'Regard the configuration of the northern countries, Count-er-Mr. Brook, I should say. Nature intended this great peninsula to be the country of one people, and the Norwegians differ no more in language and customs from the Swedes than in France do Basques from Bretons or the people of Marseilles from those of Flanders. 'Tis not Finland but Norway that I desire.'

Leaning forward eagerly, Roger said, 'That greatly simplifies our problem. I see no ground why Alexander should object to your annexing Norway. He is a Liberal-minded man, and readily accepts proposals when they make sound sense.'

'You speak as though you know him.' 'I do, Your Royal Highness. I was presented to him before his father's assassination in which I was concerned with Count Pahlen, General Bennigsen and others; although, it was our intention only to depose the Czar Paul, not murder him. Twas the Zuboff brothers who committed that crime. I have since had confidential talks with the present Czar at both Tilsit and Erfurt, so I have come to know him quite well.

'He has Danish connections, so do you not think he might side with Denmark on such a question?'

'Not as things are. How could he, if Sweden and Britain both gave him their support against Napoleon? Since the Royal Navy cut out the Danish Fleet from Copenhagen and milord Wellington, having landed there, spiked all the guns in their forts before leaving, the Danes have become the inveterate enemies of Britain. The Czar cannot have it both ways. Either he fights alone, or joins this new Coalition. If he does the latter, since the Danes are France's allies he must count them, too, among his enemies.'

For the first time during their interview, Bernadotte smiled. 'I congratulate you, Mr. Brook. I knew you had a high reputation as a soldier, but had no idea you were so able a negotiator. I do not wonder that your Government gives you such far-reaching powers.'

Roger returned the smile. 'I thank Your Royal Highness for the compliment. May I take it that you are favourably disposed to my Government's proposals?'

'You may; provided that England is willing to give me a free hand in Norway.'

'Since that could not conflict with England's interests, I consider myself empowered to promise that.

'Good.' Bernadotte handed back the lettre de marque. 'You will need this for presentation when you secure your audience with the Czar.'

Roger jerked upright in his chair. 'No, no, Your Royal Highness. It is no part of my mission to proceed to St. Petersburg. I was instructed only to approach you. It was naturally assumed that, should you agree to become England's ally, you would become our bridge with the Czar, and choose a suitable representative to lay your views before him.'

Bernadotte smiled again. 'I have chosen one, Mr. Brook yourself. Who could undertake this business with a better hope of success? My Swedish diplomats are prejudiced against the Russians; you are not.'

'Your Royal Highness, I beg you…' Roger began.

But Bernadotte waved his protest aside and said firmly, 'I'll not take "no" for an answer, Mr. Brook. You have made it plain to me yourself that you have been deeply involved in Russian affairs, and are on intimate terms with leading members of their nobility, whose influence you can seek to aid our design. I have no one with such assets whom I could send. I will give you a lettre de marque similar to the one you have; then you can speak on behalf of my Government here as well as your own. Yes, I insist on it.'

'Then Your Royal Highness leaves me no alternative Roger sighed. 'When do you wish me to start?'

'At once. Our ex-master at least showed us that, having taken a decision, speed in executing it is the secret of

CAUGHT IN THE TOILS ONCE MORE 289

success. I will give orders for a frigate to sail with you tomorrow morning. At this season of the year the greater part of the Gulf of Finland is frozen over, but she could take you across to Revel and from there it is not much above two hundred miles to St. Petersburg. I will, of course, furnish you with money for the part of your journey you must make by sleigh, and for other expenses. I will also make your adieux to Their Majesties, on the pretext that I have sent you to report on the state of our garrisons upcountry, and forgot to tell them of my intention. For the few hours that you remain here, and when you return to inform me of the Czar's reactions, you will continue to be known as M. le Colonel Comte de Breuc. Wait upon me here, please, at seven o'clock in the morning. I will then give you the lettre de marque and instructions to the captain of the frigate.' Standing up to show that the interview was over, he smiled, shook Roger warmly by the hand and added:

'This has been a most interesting conversation, Mr. Brook. It is my earnest hope that it will bear fruit. And you may rest assured that your secret is safe with me.'

As Roger undressed in his icy, stone-walled chamber, he felt no elation that he had succeeded in his mission. He gloomily reflected that, through talking too much about his past, he had hung himself with his own petard, and landed himself with another long winter journey from which there was no saying when he would return.

When he reported to Bernadotte the next morning, the Prince Royal told him that he was sending sealed orders to the captain of the frigate. These, giving Roger's destination, would not be opened until the ship had left port. In the meantime, it would be given out that he was being conveyed on the first stage of his tour of inspection, up to Osthammar. From the Prince he received the lettre de marque and a not very large purse of gold; then he was taken by an adjutant down to the harbour and aboard the frigate.

It was still dark when they left the Castle, but soon afterwards a wintry sun came up to light the innumerable islands lying off the Swedish capital. After his last experience of sea travel, Roger hated more than ever the thought of going aboard a ship; but this time, in the comparatively sheltered waters of the Baltic, he was more fortunate. The sea was no more than choppy and, two days later, he was landed at Revel without having succumbed to seasickness.

After a night spent at the best inn, he hired a troika, had a good stock of provisions packed into it and set off along the road that crossed northern Estonia. In places it ran near enough to the Gulf of Finland for him to catch glimpses of fishing boats threading their way among the ice floes, where the gulf was not completely frozen over. As the road was a main highway it was in fair condition and kept open, but fifty miles a day was as much as he could average; so he spent nights at Rakvere, Narva and Gatchina.

At the last place he looked at a small palace with interest. It was there that Catherine the Great had made her son Paul, whom she greatly disliked, reside. Eccentric to a point that later developed into madness, he had spent his entire time drilling his own regiment of troops. As a great admirer of Frederick the Great, he had dressed his men in Prussian uniforms, but he carried discipline to a point when it became sadistic torture, making his men stand to attention for hours on end and having them flogged if they so much as eased a limb.

On March 3rd, his fourth day out from Revel, long after dark he entered St. Petersburg. Being familiar with the city he had himself driven to the Laughing Tartar, a big inn at which young Guards officers often gathered for drinking bouts. There he did not have to resort to any subterfuge, as he had many friends in the Russian capital, and was known to them all as Mr. Roger Brook.

To his relief he learned that the Czar was not, as he had feared might be the case, in Moscow supervising the mobilization of his army, but in residence at the Hermitage. By half past eight on the morning after his arrival, Roger had had himself driven out to the magnificent Palace, given his name to a Chamberlain and requested an audience.

He spent the next five hours in a vast waiting room, but it was comfortably furnished and had a number of large, porcelain stoves which kept it warm. Having nothing to do and there being nothing to read, he whiled away the time thinking about a variety of people, among them Bernadotte, Georgina, Napoleon, Droopy and the Czar Alexander.

The last was a most unusual monarch, for he was at the same time a revolutionary and an autocrat. His grandmother, the beautiful, licentious, cultured and intelligent Catherine, had given him as a tutor a Swiss named La Harpe, who was a disciple of Rousseau's. La Harpe had instilled into the young Prince the liberal ideas formulated in the Rights of Man, which were then agitating France and brought about the French Revolution. Alexander had imbibed them with enthusiasm and, on coming to the throne, had ardently desired to better the lot of his subjects in every way, even to the point of liberating all the serfs.

For this purpose he surrounded himself with young men who shared his ideas, in particular Counts Stroganoff and Novssiltzoff, and the charming Polish Prince Czartoryski. He also took into his favour Michael Speranskii, a brilliant bureaucrat. Among them they drafted plans for a Bill of Rights, based on the English Habeas Corpus Act, and to revolutionize the Government by turning it into a constitutional Monarchy, with an elected Diet.

But, in the event, only a few minor reforms were actually carried out. An endeavour to force the nobility to free their serfs would have brought about Alexander's assassination. Theoretically, he would have liked everyone to have rights; but, if put into practice, that would have undermined the god-like authority long vested in the 'Little Father' of the Russian people and, with regard to establishing a Parliament, that was well enough for prominent citizens to air their views in, but if it came to their telling him what to do and what not to do, that was utterly unthinkable.

His enthusiasm for the French Revolution had cooled when the leaders of the people had abused their authority and initiated the Terror. Horrified by the blood bath engulfing the nobility and bourgeoisie that followed, he had belatedly joined the other monarchs in their attempt to destroy the young Republic and restore law and order.

The Russian Army had fought better than those of any of her allies; but, after several bloody battles in which they had held their own, Napoleon's genius as a general had inflicted so severe a defeat on Alexander's forces at Friedland that he had been forced to ask for an armistice.

Although at war with France, Alexander had already conceived an admiration for Napoleon, owing to the way in which he had brought order out of the chaos of the Revolution. So when in July 1807 the two Emperors met at Tilsit, on an elaborate raft in the middle of the river Niemen, he had completely succumbed to the Corsican's forcefulness and charm. In a matter of days they had agreed to carve up a good part of the world between them.

By then, after reigning for ten years, the Czar toyed with his idealistic ideas about reforms only occasionally. Instead, he had become something of a mystic and much addicted to reading the Bible. Also, like his grandmother, he had ambitions to expand his Empire. The gentle Czartoryski was no longer his principal adviser, but Arakcheief, his Minister of War: a rough and brutal, although devoted man.

Russia was already at war with Turkey along the lower Danube, and the two Emperors happily made a plan to divide the Sultan's vast Empire between them. Alexander was to have Turkey in Europe, which then included Serbia, Bulgaria and Greece; while Napoleon was to have Egypt, Palestine and Turkey in Asia, which would open the road for him to Persia and India. Meanwhile, he made no objection to Alexander's depriving the Swedes of Finland.

But things had not turned out in accordance with their grandiose plans. Alexander had conquered Finland, but by committing his best troops there, he was unable to make any appreciable headway against the Turks, which was the one thing that Napoleon wanted of him. Then they could not see eye to eye about Constantinople. The Czar claimed it, when the city had been taken, as part of Turkey in Europe. Napoleon would not agree to that, because it would have enabled Russia, should she become hostile, to cut his main line of communication with India. There was also, to Napoleon's intense annoyance, the Czar's passive refusal to carry out his promise of adopting the Continental System. Napoleon intended only to make use of him, and had become an egomaniac whose lust for conquest would never be satiated. Both now were arming for a mighty conflict, in which one of them must destroy the other. Thus matters stood when, shortly after one o'clock, Roger was ushered into the Imperial presence.

Alexander Paulovitch was then thirty-five years old, a fine, upstanding, handsome man with a roundish face and fair, curly hair. Extending his hand for Roger to kiss, he greeted him pleasantly:

'Welcome again to our capital, Mr. Brook. Whence have you come?'

There being no necessity to beat about the bush, Roger replied, 'From. Sweden, may it please Your Impeded Majesty. I have spent some two months there, as the guest of the Prince Royal,'

'That must have been an interesting experience,' the monarch commented. 'We hear great things of our new neighbour. He proved himself an excellent administrator when acting as Napoleon's Viceroy in northern Germany, and his talents in that direction should greatly benefit his subjects. However, we are not so sanguine about his activities in his old capacity as a General. We are told that he is both reorganizing and increasing the Swedish Army.'

Alexander's statement favoured Roger's design, but he had long since learned not to rush his fences; so he raised his eyebrows and said, 'May I ask Your Imperial Majesty why you should be averse to his doing that?'

The Czar shrugged. 'To a man of your intelligence, Mr. Brook, surely the reason for our concern is obvious? It is no secret that the Emperor is preparing to repudiate our alliance and wage war on us. The Swedes still bitterly resent our having taken Finland from them. Given favourable conditions they might attempt to win it back. Engaged in a death struggle with the French, it would be most embarrassing for us to be attacked by a hostile army on our flank.'

Now that Alexander had openly acknowledged the dangers of his situation, Roger smiled, produced the lettre de marque from Bernadotte, and said, 'Then I hope that I am the bearer of welcome tidings to Your Imperial Majesty. The Prince Royal has never had any love for the Emperor. Moreover, he has now become at heart, as well as by naturalization, a patriotic Swede. He, too, is still allied to France, albeit unwillingly. Under certain circumstances he would be prepared to face the Emperor's wrath by breaking that alliance and, given certain conditions, enter into a pact with Your Imperial Majesty.'

Alexander nodded thoughtfully. 'This proposal is of obvious interest to us, Mr. Brook. But what are the Prince Royal's conditions? I fear he would require the return of Finland, and we should regard that as too high a price to pay.'

'The Swedish Diet would naturally clamour for that, but the Prince Royal has already displayed so much wisdom in governing Sweden that I feel certain they would not seek to thwart any arrangements he entered into. Regarding Finland, he is prepared to let matters remain as they are. But he has ambitions in another direction. If he breaks his alliance with France, his alliance with Denmark will also lapse; and he has no love for the Danes. Would Your Imperial Majesty agree not to oppose his annexing Norway?'

'This makes your proposals even more interesting, Mr. Brook. We will ask the views of our Ministers upon them. Meanwhile, you will become our guest. We will give orders for accommodation in the Palace to be allotted to you.'

Roger bowed. 'I thank you, Sire. There is, however, another matter upon which I crave your gracious consideration.' Producing his other lettre de marque, he went on, 'I arrived in Sweden from England, having been sent to the Prince Royal by my Government. The object of my mission was to endeavour to bring about a new Coalition consisting of Russia, England and Sweden. As I have had the honour to inform Your Imperial Majesty, subject to your agreeing Sweden's terms, she is willing to break with the French. She would then enjoy the protection of a British fleet which would be sent to the Baltic. That could also be of use to you, Sire, for it would ensure supplies, and probably consignments of arms, reaching your ports.'

The Czar had glanced at the lettre de marque and now remarked, 'This is signed by the Marquess Wellesley. He is no longer Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, and has been superseded by Lord Castlereagh. We had this news only two days since. We are informed that seven years as a virtually autocratic monarch in India had rendered the Marquess so intolerably dictatorial that his colleagues in the Cabinet welcomed his resignation.'

This information was a blow to Roger, as it tended to undermine the authority vested in him by the lettre de marque; but he said quickly, ' Tis true, Sire, that the Marquess is a man of most haughty mien, but I have no doubt whatever that in this matter the Cabinet will endorse his policy, because it is in the interests of England to do so. Although for long periods Britain has sustained the war against France alone, she is as determined as ever to bring about the Emperor's downfall. Yet she needs peace as badly as does the rest of Europe, and the sooner it can be brought about the better for all concerned. It follows that, rather than allow further Continental nations to be defeated piecemeal, she is most anxious to give them her support; and so more swiftly bring about final victory.'

'Your premises are sound, Mr. Brook, so we will also give our consideration to entering on an alliance with England.'

The audience being over, Roger bowed himself away. An hour later his belongings had been fetched from the Laughing Tartar and he was installed in a pleasant room in the Palace. The Hermitage was a magnificent building, and he delighted in visiting again the vast, heated conservatory erected by Catherine the Great, in which semi-tropical flowers flourished even in mid-winter.

He had also always enjoyed his visits to St. Petersburg, as it was no ancient city with narrow, smelly streets. It had been built as a new capital only a little over a hundred years earlier, by Peter the Great. Instead of wood, all the principal buildings were of stone, and it was crisscrossed with splendid, wide boulevards, having on either side raised walkways of wood, so that the citizens should not have to trudge through slush in springtime, or be splashed with mud from passing vehicles.

During the next few days Roger called upon many of the friends he had made on previous visits: the Vorontzoffs, the Pahlens, the Panins, the Dolgourskis, the Galitzins and others, including a special friend he had made-a Captain Muriavieff of the Samenourki Guards. They all welcomed his return to St. Petersburg and he was soon enjoying a round of dances and receptions. Muriavieff was a member of the gayest younger set, and Roger accompanied him with his brother officers and numerous attractive young women, on skating and sleighing parties the last of the season as the thaw was now setting in and was his guest at several gala dinners in the Guards' Club.

The life he was leading was a most pleasant change after the two months he had spent in the puritanical society that inhabited the draughty Royal Castle at Stockholm. But, by the end of March, he was considerably worried about having made no progress with his mission. A week after his arrival in St. Petersburg, the Czar had left his capital, to carry out a series of reviews of his troops, which were concentrating in the neighborhood of Moscow, and had not since returned. He did so on the 1st April, but only for one night and, to Roger's chagrin, refused him the audience he requested.

The Czar did not get back until the 12th April. Again Roger persistently applied for an audience, but in vain; and he had, for another eight days, to distract his mind as well as he could with amusements. This further delay increased his concern, although he had now even better reason to hope that when he did see the Czar his reply would be favourable; for, soon after Roger had left Stockholm, Napoleon had overrun Swedish Pomerania, and Bernadotte had already broken with him.

It was not until the evening of April 20th that Alexander sent for Roger. Having politely hoped that he had been enjoying his stay in St. Petersburg, he said with a smile:

'Well, Mr. Brook, the affair on which you came here has been satisfactorily settled, at least as far as Sweden is concerned.'

Roger bowed. 'I am delighted to hear that, Sire. But I confess myself somewhat surprised that you did not send me back to the Prince Royal with your answer.'

'We preferred to settle the matter ourselves. At our request the Prince Royal crossed the Baltic to Abo. A fortnight since, we had a most amicable discussion there. The recent failure of the Swedish Army to hold Pomerania has convinced him that, although his troops displayed bravery, they are not yet qualified to face Napoleon's veterans; and a campaign against Norway will prove excellent training for them. In return for our agreement to make no objection to his annexing that country, he has signed a pact of friendship with us. Later, when his army has become more reliable, he will enter into a full alliance with us, and personally bring his troops to aid us in defeating Napoleon.'

'Then permit me to congratulate Your Imperial Majesty, The acquisition of the Prince Royal as a commander in the field should prove most valuable. When he was Marshal Bernadotte, he was accounted one of Napoleon's most able generals, and one cannot suppose that he has lost his flair for winning victories. And now, Sire, if I may enquire, what are your intentions toward England?'

'There, too, we have acted. We decided to send one of our most able diplomats secretly to London. He has our authority to enter into negotiations for an alliance.'

Roger looked distinctly aggrieved. 'Again, Sire, I am delighted. But you must forgive me if I take it a little hard that you did not allow me to carry this good news to London.'

Alexander shook his curly head and smiled. 'For that you must forgive us, Mr. Brook. Our reason for not doing so is that we have another use for you.

19

Caesar versus Caesar

Roger was seized with awful apprehension. What now? His conscience had driven him into going to Sweden as the Marquess Wellesley's secret envoy. Bernadotte had made it next to impossible for him to leave his task half done, by refusing to go on to Russia. He should have been back in England long since. Spring was already here. In a little over a fortnight it would be May; the great mansions of London open again and teeming with gaily dressed, laughing people. Georgina would be among them, and it was the one time in the year when, for ten weeks, he could definitely count on being constantly with her. And here was the Czar, who had obviously deliberately detained him in St. Petersburg, now affably stating that he had a use for him.

Continuing to smile, Alexander said, 'No doubt you will recall our meeting in Tilsit, Mr. Brook, in the spring of 1807. Anticipating a possible further advance by Napoleon, we were then removing our prisoners into the interior of Russia. You were among them, and still lame from a wound you had received. It was your good fortune that we elected to review the prisoners as they were marched out of the town. You seized the opportunity to throw yourself at our feet, and begged to be spared from the long march which, in your condition, would almost certainly have brought about your death. Do you remember that occasion?'

'Yes, Your Imperial Majesty,' Roger admitted huskily.

'You will also then remember that we and our then Minister, Prince Adam Czartoryski, had several talks with you. Some years earlier, in St. Petersburg, you had been presented to me as an Englishman; so it was clear to us that "Colonel Breuc", as you called yourself at Tilsit, had penetrated Napoleon's entourage as a spy. Realising the great value you could be to us in that capacity, we agreed that instead of detaining you indefinitely as a prisoner we would arrange for your exchange with an officer of equivalent rank. In return you agreed to find out Napoleon's intentions for us then allow yourself to be recaptured or, in some other way, inform us of them. Are we correct?'

Roger's mouth was dry. He swallowed hard. 'Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.'

'But you failed to carry out your promise.'

'That I admit,' Roger replied quickly. 'But only because it proved impossible for me to do so. No sooner had I rejoined the Emperor at Finckenstein than he dispatched me with a military mission he was sending to Turkey and Persia. From Persia I made my way back to Lisbon and there became so involved with the flight of the Portuguese Royal Family to Brazil that I was forced to accompany them.'

'We are aware of that, Mr. Brook. You informed us of it when we met again later, at the Conference of Erfurt. May we remind you that, on that occasion, you expressed the hope that at some future time you might be of service to us?'

'Yes, Your Imperial Majesty,' Roger murmured, feeling slightly sick, for he now realised what was coming.

'Well; now is that time. We would here remark that yours is a case unique in our experience. Spies are ordinarily regarded as despicable people, and quite outside the pale, yet you give the impression of being a gentleman.

Roger bridled. 'That, Sire, at least I can claim. My father was an Admiral, and while I do not suggest that I am the equal of a Romanoff, the McElfics have an ancestry as old as theirs. My grandfather was the last but one of a long line of Earls of Kildonan. As for spies, I find nothing despicable in a man who serves his country by obtaining information about the intentions of his country's enemies.'

Alexander sat back and laughed. 'Mr. Brook, you are fallen completely into our little trap. You could not more clearly have declared yourself to be a man of honour. Of course, we have no means of compelling you to it, but we are convinced that you will now honour your given word. Nay more. I pray you, in the interests of your own country, which are now identical with ours, to rejoin Napoleon and transmit to us such knowledge of his plans as you are able.'

Seeing no alternative, Roger endeavoured to resign himself to this commitment with as good a grace as possible. Giving a wry smile, he said, 'So be it, Sire. When do you wish me to set out?'

'Tomorrow we leave St. Petersburg ourselves, and we desire you to accompany us.'

That quashed a niggling question that had entered Roger's mind. A man of honour he might be, in that he did not cheat at cards or seek to trick anyone other than his country's enemies, but simply because the Czar had had him, when a prisoner of war, exchanged for a Russian officer, was he really bound again to risk his life for an indefinite period; or should he slip away across the Baltic? It was now clear that he was not to be given the option. Alexander evidently did not trust him enough, but meant to take him to the front and push him over it.

Next day the great cavalcade of coaches, escorted by the Chasseurs of the Imperial Guard, set out. Now that spring had come, only remnants of the snow, where it had formed big drifts, remained. The flat country was a greenish brown, the roads rivers of mud, and every rivulet now swollen to a river in spate. But there were constant relays of good horses and the Imperial party reached Vilna, the capital of the province of Lithuania, and the last city on the Russian side of the Polish frontier, on April 26th.

During the weeks that followed, had Roger been acting as a secret agent for Napoleon, he could not have been better placed, as everyone at Alexander's headquarters talked freely in his presence of their hopes and fears, and of the preparations going forward to resist invasion.

The Count de Narbonne had been sent by Napoleon to Alexander with lying messages of continued goodwill; but obviously he was to find out all he could of the Russian dispositions. Tactfully, but firmly, the Czar sent the Count back with a message to the effect that he was anxious to avoid war, so had no intention of sending his troops across the Polish frontier, and he had so far not entered into an alliance with England; but would do so once the first shot was fired. Both sides now knew that war was inevitable, but were maneuvering to gain time.

Napoleon had arrived in Dresden and was holding Court there. Never before had there been such an assembly of Royalties and Great Captains: his father-in-law the Emperor of Austria, his two reliable allies the Kings of Saxony and Bavaria, the brow-beaten King of Prussia, Murat, King of Naples, Prince Poniatowski, the leader of the Poles, a score of Princes, Grand Dukes, Margraves and Landgraves, a dozen of the most famous Marshals, sullen but obedient Generals commanding troops from Denmark, Switzerland, Holland and even Spain.

Surrounded by this brilliant throng of fawning sycophants, the majority of whom wished him dead but dared not refuse his demands that they should raise ever more troops from the conquered territories, the Master of Europe built up the most mighty army that had ever existed, while Berthier worked night and day, despatching division after division, until six hundred and fifty thousand troops were concentrated in east Prussia and Poland.

Meanwhile the Russians were making their dispositions with the far smaller forces at their disposal. Before leaving St. Petersburg, the Czar had dismissed his pacific minded Minister, Speranskii, and his War Minister, Arakeheyev, had become his principal adviser. But this brutal sadist, who delighted to have soldiers knouted to death before him for quite trivial offences, although a bulwark of the throne, was no strategist; so Alexander placed himself in the hands of a German General named von Phull.

This man had gained for himself a reputation as a master of the art of war. He was a marvellous theoretician and had made the plan by which Prussia was to overwhelm Napoleon in 1806. The result had been catastrophic for the Prussians. Nevertheless, he had, immediately afterwards, been received at St. Petersburg as an infallible pundit, and was listened to there with awe, in spite of the fact that he was irritable, stubborn, openly regarded the Russian Generals with contempt and, in six years at the Czar's Court, had not bothered to learn a word of Russian.

The plan he produced was that the main Russian army should be divided into two unequal halves, with a considerable gap between them. The larger, under Barclay de Tolly, a Lithuanian of Scottish ancestry, and a cautious man, on the left front with one hundred and eighteen thousand troops; the smaller, under Prince Bagration one of Russia's best generals, who believed in attacking the enemy at every opportunity, on the right front with thirty-five thousand.

There were, in addition, two smaller armies: that of General Wittgenstein, consisting of twenty-five thousand men, which was to be stationed further in the rear, guarding the road to St. Petersburg, and another under Admiral Tormasov, which also lay far to the rear, in the east.

However, von Phull's great inspiration was to turn the little town of Drissa, on the Dvina, some two hundred miles behind the frontier, into a huge, fortified area where, if forced back, both armies could make a stand and equally well bar the road either to St. Petersburg or Moscow.

Early in June news reached the Czar that greatly cheered him. For six years past he had been at war with Turkey. On May 22nd, by a clever piece of trickery, the veteran General Kutuzov had induced the Turks to sign a peace treaty. This meant that Russia was now safe from attack on both her flanks, and could bring her army from the Danube to assist in repelling the French.

On the night of June 24th a ball was given for the Czar in Vilna. While he was at it, news was brought to him that Napoleon's army had begun to cross the Niemen by the bridge at Kovno and three others not far from it, built by his sappers. Next day Alexander sent for Balashov, his Minister of Police, and said to him:

'The mission on which we are about to send you will not stop the war; but we wish to prove to the world that we did not start it.' He then handed Balashov a letter for Napoleon, which said in effect that if the Emperor was willing to enter on negotiations, they could begin at once. But only on condition that his troops retired beyond the frontier, otherwise the Czar gave his word of honour that, as long as a single armed French soldier remained on Russian soil, he would neither utter nor listen to a single word about peace.

Owing to obstruction by, first Murat, then Davoust and several subordinate officers, it was not until the 29th that Balashov was interviewed by Napoleon, and then it was in the same room in Vilna in which he had received his instructions; for Alexander had withdrawn and the Emperor occupied the city on the previous day.

Napoleon read the Minister of Police a long lecture about the shortcomings of his master, and even insulted him; but Balashov cleverly got his own back. When the Emperor remarked that the Russians were barbarians and irreligious, he replied, 'The piety of nations varies; but in Russia, as in Spain, the masses are fanatically religious.' The Emperor then facetiously asked him the way to Moscow, to which he promptly answered, 'There are several. Charles XII took that via Polotsk.' A neat crack, for the Swedish King's army had been thoroughly routed and he had narrowly escaped with his life. Balashov had then tried to persuade Napoleon that he was making a terrible mistake by invading Russia, because the Russians would never surrender, but fight on to the last man.

Berthier, Bessieres and Caulaincourt, Duke of Vicenza, were present at the interview. The last named had not long since been French Ambassador at St. Petersburg. He had got on well with the Russians and had done everything he could to strengthen the Franco Russian alliance. With the spiteful playfulness to which he was prone at times, Napoleon struck him lightly on the cheek and said, 'Why don't you say something, you old pro-Russian?'

Deeply insulted, the ex-Ambassador said to the Emperor when Balashov had been dismissed, 'I will now prove myself to be a good Frenchman, by telling Your Majesty that this war is foolish and dangerous. It will destroy the Army, France and yourself.

Many of Napoleon's Marshals and Ministers were of the same opinion, but it was the first time that anyone had plucked up the courage to say so to his face.

He laughed the matter off, remarking that it might take two or three summers to conquer Russia, but conquer her he would.

All this was related to Roger that same evening, as he had rejoined the French army without difficulty twenty-four hours earlier. After the Russians left, he had simply gone down into the cellar, remained there during the bombardment, and emerged on the arrival of the French. As he spoke the language perfectly and declared himself to be a Frenchman, he had been in no danger of coming to any harm, and had had only to wait there another hour or so before an advance party of the Emperor's staff arrived to take over the Czar's evacuated headquarters.

As usual, Roger's old friend, Duroc, Marechal de Camp and Due de Friuli, was in charge. His astonishment at coming on Roger there in civilian clothes was soon allayed by the account that Roger gave of his doings during the past two years. He said he had been falsely imprisoned in Berlin, escaped and stowed away in an American ship which had unfortunately carried him to England, where he had been made a prisoner of war, escaped again and managed to get to Portugal, been wounded and captured again, then sent back as a prisoner to England, escaped from there a second time and secured a passage in a ship that had brought him into the Baltic and landed him at Riga. As everyone there knew that the Emperor was about to invade Russia, he had hurried to Vilna a week ago, feeling certain that it must soon fall to the French. He then produced a stack of documents and maps that, in their haste to be gone, the Russians had left behind. None of them was of any particular value, but the gesture was good evidence that he was still a keen and useful officer.

That evening he repeated his story in more detail to the Emperor and a number of his officers. It happened that Davoust, Ney and Junot were all present. The first knew of his imprisonment in Berlin while both the latter had been at Massena's headquarters when he was there and knew of the mission on which he had been sent to Soult; so they were not surprised that he had been captured and did not for a moment doubt that it was by the English. Napoleon and everyone else present congratulated him upon his three escapes.

Next day the uniform of a Colonel of Hussars, who had been killed during the taking of the city, was produced for him, and he took up his old duties as one of Napoleon's A.D.Cs under General Count Rapp, who was now Napoleon's A.D.C.-in-Chief.

Rapp was a blunt spoken Alsatian and an old friend of Roger's. In fact, Roger owed his life to Rapp and General Savary. They had both been A.D.Cs to the gallant Desaix and had, together with Roger, climbed the Great Pyramid when in Egypt. Later, Desaix and his two A.D.Cs had succeeded in getting back to Europe just in time to rejoin Napoleon before the battle of Marengo. In this battle Desaix had been killed and Roger seriously wounded. Both had been left on the field among the dead and dying. The two A.D.C.S had gone out with lanterns to search for their dead General, and chanced upon Roger, thus saving him from either dying there from loss of blood, or being murdered by the human hyenas who prowled die battlefields by night, robbing the dead and dying alike.

Savary had become Napoleon's Minister of Police. It was he who had lured the unfortunate young Due d'Enghien back over the French frontier and then been responsible for his murder. He had also lured the King of Spain and his son over the frontier, to Bayorme so that Napoleon could force them to abdicate. Roger loathed the crafty, unscrupulous Minister of Police; but he was very fond of Rapp and it was from him that he obtained most of the information about the strength and dispositions of the Grand Army.

The force that had crossed the Niemen consisted of one hundred and forty-five thousand French, forty-five thousand Italians, thirty thousand Austrians, thirty thousand Prussians, twenty-five thousand other Germans and seventy thousand troops of other nations. In addition to these there was an immense cavalry reserve and the Old and Young Guards; so they totalled something over four hundred thousand troops, besides which there were estimated to be roughly one hundred thousand camp followers.

The vast cavalry screen was commanded by Murat, the central corps by Davout, Ney, Eugene de Beauhamais and Prince Poniatowski, with a corps under Reynier in reserve and Victor's corps, also in reserve, back on the Polish frontier. In the rear centre, too, were the Old Guard commanded by Bessieres and the Young Guard by Mortier. Upon the left were Oudinot and St. Cyr's corps with, beyond them, Macdonald's corps and, still nearer the coast, the Prussians. Upon the right, slightly back, there was a corps under King Jerome of Westphalia and far out the Austrians under Prince Schwarzenberg. Another one hundred and fifty thousand men under Augereau, who had taken over from Davout, were still occupying Poland and north Germany.

But, as Roger well knew, in spite of Napoleon's famous doctrine that 'God is on the side of the big battalions', in war numbers are not everything. If Talleyrand and his friend Metternich had had anything to do with it, the Austrians would be under orders not to fire a shot except in their own defence. The Prussians were there under duress and, if things went badly for the Emperor, might even go over to their old allies, the Russians. That, too was the case with many of the other foreign contingents. Only the Poles, Saxons, Bavarians, Danes and some of the troops from the Rhineland and Italy could be fully relied on.

As for the French, apart from the Guards' Corps, Oudinot's Grenadiers and Murat's cavalry, in Roger's view to have had to lead them into battle would have turned any General's hair grey. They bore no resemblance whatever to the magnificent Army of the Coasts of the Ocean, which had been assembled in 1804 to invade England, and which later covered itself with glory at Austerlitz and Wagram. Over half the men were little more than boys, or bitterly resentful deserters who had been dragged from their homes and forced to march again.

The huge army's only asset was that it was led by the most able, experienced and courageous warriors in. the world. In addition to many of his foremost Corps Commanders, the Emperor had brought from Spain Junot, Lauriston, Montbrun, Vandamme, Hulin, Latour Maubourg, Jomini, the younger Caulaincourt, Grouchy, Sebastiani and a score of other paladins.

Yet against that had to be set off a consideration of great importance. Not only were Napoleon's troops much inferior to those of his early days, but he, too, was by no means the man he had been. It was over two years since Roger had seen him, and he was shocked by his appearance. The bulging forehead and prognathous jaw stood out more than ever, but his hair had thinned, his shoulders were hunched and he was now pot bellied.

Yet more important, he had deteriorated mentally as well as physically. Every day he still got through as much work as would have exhausted six other men: reading dozens of reports, dictating scores of dispatches, dealing with innumerable problems that were sent to him from all parts of his vast Empire; but he was much more irritable than of old, showed contempt for all opinions which did not coincide with his own, appeared to reach decisions without giving matters due thought and a weakness he had never displayed before he was at times subject to periods of lassitude during which he could not be brought to make up his mind.

As the days went by, it was more and more borne in on Roger's mind that the French High Command had great cause for worry. The heat was almost unbearable and even the march to Vilna had proved so great a strain on the troops that the size of the army had shrunk. Dysentery from drinking stagnant water, heat-stroke and partial suffocation after breathing in for hours on end the clouds of dust kicked up by endless columns of marching men, had caused hundreds a day to drop by the wayside. Still more serious was the loss from desertion and this was only the opening of the campaign.

In the blazing heat the men could march only a few miles without becoming exhausted. Water was so scarce that they fought for it, and the supply trains were so far behind schedule in coming up that both men and horses were on half-rations.

It was presumably for this reason-to rest his troops and better their condition that Napoleon lingered for seventeen days at Vilna. In the old days he would have pushed on regardless, caught up with the Russians and probably inflicted a defeat on them that would have ended the war; but now he allowed the days to slip away as though time was of no importance.

Meanwhile, Barclay de Tolly, and Alexander with him, had retired on to the great redoubt at Drissa. Within twenty-four hours they realised the folly of von Phull's brilliant conception. Although Napoleon kept his main forces dallying in the neighborhood of Vilna, he had allowed the corps forming his left wing to follow up the Russians. Oudinot bypassed the Drissa redoubt on one side, and St. Gyr on the other. On July 18th Barclay's army fled from it. Narrowly escaping encirclement, it retreated along the north bank of the River Dvina to Polotsk.

In the third week in July intelligence came in that the Czar had left the army and was on his way back to St. Petersburg. Having spent two months at his headquarters, Roger could guess the reason. As an autocrat who fancied himself as a strategist, he was a menace to his Generals. During his first campaign against Napoleon in Austria, he had shown himself to be a hopeless blunderer. Evidently all his people had combined to persuade him, with tactful flattery, that to govern his vast realms it was necessary for him to return to his capital in the north.

Although the Grand Army remained comparatively inactive up to mid July, the corps on the left flank continued to fight a series of bloody engagements. Oudinot had been ordered to link up with Macdonald, who was besieging Riga, but failed to do so and was attacked with the greatest ferocity by Wittgenstein's army. His subordinate, General Kulnev, not only inflicted a severe defeat on the French, but captured their entire baggage train and nine hundred prisoners.

Bagration, too, unlike Barclay, stood to fight when the main army did advance from Vilna. Greatly outnumbered, he soon found himself in serious difficulties. The brilliant Davout very nearly encircled him and would have annihilated his whole army had the lazy Jerome done what was expected of him. But he failed to bring up his Westphalians in time, so Bagration succeeded in fighting his way out of the trap. Davout complained bitterly to the Emperor who, furious with his useless brother, placed him under the Marshal. Jerome took such umbrage at this that he threw his hand in and, without even asking leave, rode away to his German kingdom.

The advance to Vitebsk proved a terrible ordeal. Alternately the blazing sunshine drove the men frantic with thirst, or pouring rain turned the roads into rivers of mud. This delayed further the coming up of the transports, so the army began to suffer from semi-starvation. The country was almost featureless, half covered with thickets of birch and elder, and the few villages consisted only of a score or so of small huts. Inside, as they had only slits for windows, they were almost pitch dark and they stank to high heaven. Cartridges had to be burned in them to sweeten the atmosphere. Horse flies and cockroaches abounded in them, making sleep impossible.

Few prisoners were taken, but from the interrogation of some of them it was learned that conditions in the Russian Army were still worse. Army contractors all over Europe had for years been making fortunes by giving short measure and supplying goods of inferior quality; but the Russians exceeded all others and the officers of their Commissariat were no better than criminals. It was common practice for them to sell a large percentage of the food for the troops and fodder for the horses; often they simply pocketed the money and did not bother to deliver any goods at all. Semi-starvation was therefore the lot of the troops but, being tougher than southern Europeans, their survival rate was much higher.

On July 26th Napoleon arrived outside Vitebsk. It was strongly garrisoned and Barclay's army lay behind it. Napoleon radiated optimism. Here, he was convinced, the Russians would make their big stand. He would storm the town, then inflict a crushing defeat on Barclay. His Grenadiers attacked, but not with the élan they had displayed in the old days when led by the great Lannes. It was the Russians who displayed the real fighting spirit. Wild with joy to have at last a chance to get at the hated French, their officers could not restrain them from dashing out from their defences and throwing away their lives for the pleasure of bayoneting an enemy.

The bloody conflict went on all day, in clouds of choking dust and a stifling heat, the like of which the older French troops had previously endured only in their Egyptian campaign. Again and again the attackers were repulsed. When night fell, the French had failed to penetrate the city. But in spite of the terrible losses during the past month, caused by sickness, desertion and casualties, Napoleon still had great masses of troops at his disposal. That night he declared gleefully that next day the tired garrison would be overwhelmed, and the strong, flanking columns he had sent out would encircle Barclay.

When, at dawn, the first attack was launched, there was no opposition. Vitebsk was a city of the dead and dying. Beyond it, Barclay's camp-fires were still burning; but he had slipped away in the night.

This gave Roger much food for thought. Before the invasion and while in Vilna, the Czar's advisers had been at sixes and sevens. The Generals had argued endlessly; but no plan, other than the creation of von Phull's redoubt at Drissa, had been decided on. It was simply assumed that, if the Czar's troops failed to hold the French, they would fall back on Drissa and make a stand there; but several of the more cautious commanders had urged the Czar to take the advice that Bernadotte had given him.

This was to refrain from giving battle to Napoleon as long as he had superior numbers. To fight only a series of rearguard actions, while falling back all the time and rendering the ground over which Napoleon advanced incapable of supporting an army; just as Wellington had done in mid-Portugal before retiring behind the lines of Torres Vedras. Thus, Bernadotte had argued, Napoleon's army could be reduced by wastage and starvation until he could be attacked with a good hope of victory, or forced to retreat without even fighting a battle.

Barclay having got away, the general opinion was that no time should be lost in following him up and forcing

him to give battle. But for miles round, the reddish, sandy soil had been so churned up by horses, wagons and men that it had formed a fog of dust, greatly limiting visibility and thus preventing Murat's cavalry from determining in which direction the main Russian army had withdrawn. However, the Emperor appeared to be in no hurry, because he was convinced that, rather than allow the French to penetrate further into Russia, the Czar would again send Balashov to him this time to ask for terms. But the days passed and the Minister of Police did not appear. Napoleon then began to talk of a three year campaign and of spending the first winter in Vitebsk.

Bad news then came in from the eastern front. Admiral Tormasov had inflicted a severe defeat on General Regnier's corps, and three French regiments had been cut to pieces. Schwarzenberg had apparently been unable to come to his assistance and his Austrians were now the main bulwark against the army being outflanked from the right. Napoleon had intended to bring Schwarzenberg's thirty thousand men into his main striking force, but decided that he must now leave them far out on the wing.

By this time the sufferings of the army had caused it to become almost completely out of hand. The great herds of cattle collected in Prussia and Poland and supplies of flour and fodder were still many days' march behind. In desperation the troops took to indiscriminate looting. Both in Vitebsk and ranging far over the countryside around, they tortured the unfortunate citizens and peasants, in the hope of inducing them to reveal hidden stores of food. Thousands of Russian men, women and children were murdered and their dwellings set on fire. Desertion continued at an alarming rate and, as the French troops were given priority in every way, there were furious quarrels between them and their allies. In one case, far behind the front, a French troop of horse was amazed to find itself being fired on by a body of infantry a hundred and thirty strong. It transpired that the attackers were Spaniards.

The argument at headquarters, whether to remain in Vitebsk or to advance, continued to rage fiercely. Not for years had the Marshals and the Emperor's entourage dared express their opinions to him so frankly. Murat and other firebrands were all for continuing the campaign, but the majority were against it, including Berthier, Bessieres, Duroc and the outspoken Rapp who, having on one occasion been asked, 'How far is it back to Paris?' bluntly replied, 'Too far.'

Most impressive of all in advising against a further advance, was Count Daru, the Intendant General of the Army. Being responsible for supplies, he knew the position better than anyone else and chilled his hearers with the statement that, in the advance from Vilna to Vitebsk alone, out of the twenty two thousand horses that had crossed the Niemen, eight thousand were dead. Never the less in the end, no offer to negotiate having come from the Czar, on August 12th Napoleon decided to march on Smolensk.

The Russian 27th Division, under General Neverovsky, had been detached from their main forces to act as a rearguard. It behaved magnificently, turning again and again to attack the far superior numbers of the French. It was only with great difficulty that Ney fought his way into Krasnoye and opened the way to Smolensk, in front of which Napoleon arrived on the 16th.

Early that morning the bombardment of the city began, and was shortly followed by the first assault. Again the Russian defence was heroic, and the French were beaten back. On the 17th the battle was resumed and for thirteen hours without a single pause the Emperor's cannon hurled their shells into the city and its suburbs. By evening a score of big fires were blazing, and later their red glow lit up the country for miles round. In the middle of the night, the Russian guns suddenly ceased to reply, but a series of tremendous explosions were heard. Barclay had ordered the evacuation of the city, and was blowing up his magazines.

Davout entered Smolensk at four o'clock in the morning. The chaos was indescribable. The Russian dead lay everywhere, often in piles. Groans and cries came from the wounded; blinded and legless men begged to be put out of their agony by a bullet. A few thousand civilians had fled with the army, but thousands remained. Driven from their houses by the flames, they ran about the streets, seeking relatives and friends, or wandered aimlessly, imploring God and the Holy Virgin to succor them.

In earlier actions the Russians had sent all their wounded to Smolensk. Thousands of them had been concentrated in a group of warehouses in the oldest quarter of the city. There the few doctors available had done what they could for them, but the great majority had been unable to rise from the boards on which they lay. When the troops had evacuated the city, it had been impossible to take the wounded with them, and a fire had already been raging for hours in the old wooden buildings. Only a few score, scorched and blistered had managed to stagger out alive. The roaring flames devoured all the rest.

The stench from these many hundred charred bodies was abominable. That, and the pools of blood and excrement from the dead on the streets, together with the sight of grotesquely-twisted bodies and faces distorted by agony, made many of the French sick. But it did not prevent them, with the Germans, Italians, Poles and Dutch, from beginning to loot the still unburned houses, from garret to cellar. In this it was recognised that the Prussians were the worst offenders; for, in addition to robbing their victims, they delighted in inflicting every form of brutality upon them.

With the fall of Smolensk, Napoleon had again expected to be able to launch his legions against Barclay in the open-field. On the previous day he had dispatched flying columns to encircle the Russians, and had joyfully exclaimed, 'At last I have them in my hands!' But again he suffered bitter disappointment. Barclay succeeded in getting his army away. A week earlier he had been joined by Bagration and the whole force retreated toward Vyazma.

Meanwhile, on the left Wittgenstein had attacked the corps of Oudinot and St. Cyr with sixty thousand men, handled them very roughly and driven them, back, Oudinot being a Marshal was in command of both corps. Leading his famous Grenadiers into battle, after the death of Lannes, he had no equal as an infantry General; but he was no strategist, so things were going very badly for the French. While the Marshal was riding out on a reconnaissance, a sniper put a bullet through his arm it was the thirty-fourth wound he had received and he was forced to leave the field.

Gouvion St. Gyr, moody, taciturn, secretive, loathed by all his colleagues, but a man of high intelligence, took over the command. Swiftly he altered all the dispositions, heavily defeated Wittgenstein and took Polotsk. The Emperor sent him his Marshal's baton.

A change was now to take place in the Russian High Command. For weeks past, Barclay and Bagration had been engaged in a most acrimonious dispute. The latter, supported by most of the Russian nobility, was unshakably convinced that they ought to stand and fight and, as far as he was able, without risking the loss of his entire army, he was doing so. But it was much the smaller of the two and, even with the aid of Wittgenstein; he could not repel the overwhelming hordes of French, Prussians, Rhinelander’s and Italians. Barclay, on the other hand, although he dared not say so openly, was equally determined not to give battle. Bagration sent complaint after complaint to the Czar about Barclay doing no more than fight rearguard actions. At length Alexander appointed as Supreme Commander over both of them Mikhil Illarionavich Golenisch-Kutuzov.

The Czar was very far from liking Kutuzov because before Austerlitz he had done his utmost, as the senior Russian General present, to dissuade him from risking a pitched battle with Napoleon. The headstrong young autocrat had flatly refused to accept this advice. In consequence, he suffered a crushing defeat and had been ignominiously chased from the field.

But Kutuzov, having skillfully fooled the Turks into signing a peace, had returned from the Danube with a reputation second to none in the Russian Army. He and Bagration had been the principal lieutenants of the redoubtable Suvoroff now almost a legendary figure as Catherine the Great's most brilliant General and, of the two, Kutuzov was accounted the greater. He was now sixty seven, so corpulent that he had to be driven about battlefields in a one man carriage, and he had had one of his eyes shot out by a Turk; but he was clever, courageous and so wily that he was known as 'the old fox of the north'. His men adored him, and the great Russian nobles had such faith in him that they continued to exert so much pressure on the Czar that, autocrat though he was, he felt himself compelled to give Kutuzov the Supreme Command.

For a week after entering Smolensk the Emperor's refusal to make up his mind about the future, which had caused so much delay in Vilna and Vitebsk, again bedeviled operations. Under Murat and Davout the vanguard pushed forward toward Vyazma, but Napoleon held back the bulk of the army. Once more he felt convinced that he need go no further, as Balashov would be sent to ask for terms; but the Minister of Police did not come. In desperation, Napoleon sent a captured Russian General with a letter to Alexander, pointing out the folly of continuing the war, but received no reply. Again he told his staff that he thought it best to postpone crushing the Russians till next year. They would winter in Smolensk, then take Moscow in the spring.

But Smolensk was a shambles and the greater part of it in ruins. They had found no large stores of food there, and supplies of all kinds had become scarcer than ever. Far and wide the troops ravaged the countryside, but with little reward for their exertions. They no longer burned the hovels in the miserable villages, because they found them burned already. The Russians were now applying the scorched earth policy, with the utmost rigour. They were leaving nothing behind which could be of any use to their enemies. Meanwhile, from lack of fodder, more horses were dying every day and more men from wounds they had received, lack of nourishment and dysentery. A constant stream of deserters, now become bandits, trickled back the way they had come. The supply trains and field hospitals still failed to arrive in sufficient numbers.

At last Napoleon reluctantly decided that, if he wintered in Smolensk, he would risk his army falling to pieces, and that to take Moscow was the only way to compel the Czar to sue for peace. Having summoned up Victor's reserve corps of twenty-five thousand men from Poland to hold Smolensk and guard his lines of communications, on August 25th Napoleon and his Guards marched out of Smolensk by the road to Moscow. The die was cast.

20

Advance to Desolation

The great host trudged forward; far out on the left the Prussians, far out on the right the Austrians, both in fair trim because they were advancing through unspoiled country. In the centre, Napoleon's masses swarmed across the seemingly endless plain, with its empty barns and burned out villages.

One great body of twenty thousand men, at least, never lacked for food the Imperial Guard for it was given first call on every supply column that did come up. With, bands playing and the Tricolour beneath its Eagles fluttering bravely, it marched out of Smolensk. The Emperor, riding his grey horse, wearing his plain Guides uniform, the undecorated black tricorne hat set squarely on his big head, took the road between the Old Guard and the Young Guard. Behind him rode his staff: Berthier, Duroc, Caulaincourt, his chief secretary Baron Meneval, Rapp and a score of others, with Roger among them.

Their blue and white uniforms were now dull from dust and stains of travel, but the plumes still waved from their hats, the well polished scabbards of their swords, their stirrups and the bits of their horses shone in the sunshine. The gold of their belts, epaulettes and embroidery on their coats remained untarnished, the jewels in the Orders on their breasts glittered and scintillated. Whichever way they had been heading they would have been thankful to leave behind the terrible charnel-house that had once been the fine city of Smolensk.

In the wake of the army there followed another army the great motley horde of sutlers, vivandieres, cobblers, sweet-sellers, tobacco pedlars, whores and ragamuffins of all descriptions. Their losses had been nothing compared to those of the armed forces, because they were not dependant on the Commissariat. In times of plenty the soldiers often gave them a share of their rations, but they always took their own supplies in small carts that they drove or pulled themselves.

One of the Army's most famous paladins had recently been overtaken by disaster. The Emperor had sent Murat and Ney ahead from Smolensk to endeavour to pin down the enemy, and they had very nearly succeeded. A most bloody encounter had taken place east of Valutina. The plan had been that, while Ney engaged the enemy hotly, Junot with the Eighth Corps, which he had taken over from King Jerome, should outflank them from the north; but he had failed to appear. Murat had galloped off in search of him, and found him with his men halted. Angrily, Murat urged him to attack at once, but Junot said his poor Westphalians were too exhausted. With a part of Junot's force, the tireless Murat then led an attack himself, but it was too weak and too late. The Russians fought him off and escaped from the trap.

Junot's failure to exert himself was, no doubt, due to the head wound he had received in Portugal affecting his brain; for, not long afterwards, he went mad. He had been with Napoleon at the siege of Toulon and served him faithfully for eighteen years. Why the Emperor should have passed over this old friend when first distributing Marshals' batons, no one could understand. All through the seven years that had since elapsed, Junot had been hoping to receive his. Now he had lost his last chance of becoming a Marshall.

Behind Murat's cavalry screen, many thousands strong, Ney and Davout led the van. The main body followed, reaching Vyazma on August 29th and Gjatsk on September 1st. Four days later they were confronted with a one hundred and fifty foot high hill, rising out of the level plain near Shevardino. Kutuzov had made the hill into a big redoubt that had to be stormed before the French could advance further. After severe fighting and at considerable loss, they took it; but it checked them for a day, which was of great value to Kutuzov whose army was working desperately hard to complete a great system of earthworks a few miles further on, either side of the village of Borodino.

Old Kutuzov was strongly in favour of the strategy advised by Bernadotte and adopted by Barclay, of letting his enemies advance further and further into the illimitable Russian steppe until they were exhausted; but he knew that he could not allow them to enter Moscow without fighting a battle. Had he done so he would overnight have become the most hated man in Russia, and promptly been deprived of his command.

For making a stand, the Borodino position left much to be desired, but it was the best available. He disposed his army along it in a shallow, convex curve. The right followed the line of the little Kalotcha river, near the centre rose a steep ridge and to the left the ground sloped away to the valley of Utitza. Crowning the ridge was a great redoubt, in which were massed the Russian guns. Barclay commanded the right and centre, Bagration the left, where lesser earthworks had been thrown up. Having made his dispositions, Kutuzov retired to a farm two miles behind the line, and left his subordinates to fight the battle.

The Grand Army arrayed itself opposite: Beauharnais' Italians on the extreme left, Murat's, Ney's and Davout's corps, supported by other formations, in the centre, the Guard on high ground at right centre, in reserve, and on the extreme right, Poniatowski's Poles.

For some days Napoleon had been far from well. He was suffering from his old complaint, dysuria, and could pass water only painfully, in driblets. In addition, the dust and damp bivouacs had given him a nasty dry cough, causing him loss of voice and making it difficult to dictate orders.

His anxieties were many, not least how matters were going on in Spain, where he still had two hundred thousand men tied up. Every few days couriers from the Peninsula reached him with news, and it was rarely good. Now, on the eve of the most important battle of his career, Captain Favrier arrived, having ridden from central Spain in thirty two days. The despatch he brought reported that Marshal Marmont, one of Napoleon's oldest friends who, like Junot, had been with him at the siege of Toulon, had been seriously wounded, and that Soult had suffered a crushing defeat by Wellington at Salamanca.

When the Grand Army had crossed the Niemen, the odds against the Russians had been three to one in its favour. But ten weeks of campaigning had enormously reduced those odds. The Russians had been reinforced by General Miloradovitch's bringing up fifteen thousand men from the Danube, and Count Markov had reached the front with ten thousand militiamen. Napoleon, on the other hand, had received no reinforcements at all, and his losses in killed, wounded, by disease and starvation and in deserters had been at the least one hundred thousand men. Thus the odds now favoured him only by five to four.

On the morning of the battle, September 7th, when the two armies faced each other, the Grand Army numbered approximately one hundred and twenty-five thousand, and the Russians one hundred and four thousand.

The Russians had nearly six hundred and fifty guns and the Grand Army fewer than six hundred.

The battle opened by de Beauharnais attacking the Russian right. Soon afterwards Ney and Davout launched their massed infantry against the centre, while Poniatowski endeavoured to outflank the Russian left. The great redoubt was taken, retaken and taken again. For over ten hours the lines swayed back and forth, while two hundred thousand men were locked in conflict and unceasing carnage raged. Murat led his hordes of cavalry in charge after charge, only to have his temporary triumphs wrested from him by charge after charge of Platov's Cossacks.

All day the Emperor lay on a bearskin, only occasionally getting up to observe that part of the battle he could see through his spy glass. He gave no orders of importance, only nominating junior Generals to replace senior Generals when A.D.G.S galloped up to report that their commanders had been killed or grievously wounded. About him, covering acres of the grassy slope, sat or lay his grand reserve the twenty thousand men of the Imperial Guard.

Late in the afternoon Ney believed that if he received reinforcements he was in a position to break right through the Russian centre. He sent an urgent appeal to the Emperor, begging him to launch the Guard. Roger was standing nearby. He had had one horse shot under him and had the bridle of his second horse over his arm. He had been slightly wounded by a small fragment of cannon ball in the left shoulder, a bullet had carried away his hat and grazed his scalp. His face was blackened by powder and his coat had been ripped down the side by the lance of a Cossack. More than half his fellow A.D.Cs had been killed or laid low, and of the few remaining he was the next for duty. He strained his ears to catch Napoleon's reply, dreading that he would be dispatched back once more through the fog of blinding smoke stabbed by the flashes of bursting cannon shells, over the heaps of wounded and between the overturned guns and limbers, to carry to Ney the longed for message that the Guard was on its way.

The Emperor hesitated. Bessieres was beside him. Leaning forward, he said, 'Sire, we are eighteen hundred miles from Paris.' Feebly, Napoleon nodded. Ney's plea remained unanswered. The Guard sat on where they were, dozing, smoking their long pipes or playing cards.

As evening fell, the battle petered out, both armies having become utterly exhausted. The Russians still held most of their positions, what was left of the Grand Army withdrew. It had been the most bloody battle in history, and the carnage was almost incredible. The Russians had lost fifty eight thousand men and the Grand Army over fifty thousand, including fifty seven Generals. Over one hundred thousand troops lay dead or dying on the field, and the gallant General Prince Bagration was among the dead.

Both Napoleon and Kutuzov had intended to renew the battle on the following day; but the latter considered his losses to be so serious that he would not risk it, and withdrew his army during the night. Thus, although in fact the armies had fought each other to a standstill, the Emperor was able to claim a victory. As usual, in his bulletin he greatly increased the Russian losses and minimized his own. Next day, when walking over the battlefield, he remarked that there were five Russian dead for every one of his. The cynical Rapp said, in an aside to Roger, 'He is mistaking Germans and Poles for Russians.'

The number of the dead was so enormous that no attempt was made to bury them, but the still living were gradually collected and the overworked surgeons did what they could for them. In the next few days, by cannibalizing units, the Grand Army reassumed the appearance of a well organized, formidable force of approximately seventy-five thousand men. The advance was then continued and, on the 14th, the main body marched up the western slopes of the Mont du Salut. Spread out below was Russia's old capital, 'the Holy City'. It was a lovely day; the spires and domes of Moscow's three hundred and seventy churches glinted in the sunshine and had the appearance of an array of fairy palaces. The Emperor was still far from well, but greatly relieved to have Moscow in his grasp at last, as he felt certain that Alexander would now sue for peace.

Murat had been sent on ahead. Kutuzov had withdrawn his main force to Fili, but left General Miloradovitch behind with a strong rearguard. When Murat reached the gates of the city, a Russian officer came out to present what almost amounted to an ultimatum. Miloradovitch requested a temporary armistice while he evacuated Moscow, or he would fight to the last man defending it. Murat agreed his terms and then an extraordinary scene of fraternisation took place.

The Cossacks had never seen such a resplendent leader of cavalry as the King of Naples. He was wearing a green, fur trimmed jacket, pink riding breeches and bright yellow boots. His hat sprouted not only ostrich plumes but also a heron's feather aigret rising from a diamond clasp the size of a pigeon's egg. His belt and spurs were gold, and in his hand he carried a golden wand with which, instead of a sword, he directed his troops in battle. The hilt of his sabre was encrusted with jewels, and a dozen decorations blazed on his chest. While he gracefully cavorted on his splendid mount, the Cossacks cheered him to the echo, then danced the czardas for him.

In due course, the Emperor arrived before the gates. In his time he had accepted the surrender of a score of great cities. The Governor had come out with a depressed looking staff, surrendered his sword, offered the keys of the city on a velvet cushion and begged that mercy should be shown to the inhabitants. Naturally, Napoleon expected this ritual to be performed. Having fumed for a while at the rude Russians for keeping him waiting, he sent Murat in to find out why they delayed. Murat returned with the disconcerting news that the Governor, General Rostopchin had, even more rudely, ridden off with Miloradovitch and that the greater part of the population had gone with them.

Grumpily, Napoleon allowed himself to be installed in the Kremlin; but he was by no means depressed. He had remarked that a capital that is occupied by an enemy is like a woman who has been taken prisoner and is being dishonored. Surely Alexander would not submit to Moscow continuing to suffer such an indignity? Balashov would undoubtedly soon be turning up and this time be ready to accept practically any terms as the price of peace. It was now only a matter of waiting a week or so, then the Czar would have become as much of a puppet monarch as the King of Prussia. French garrisons would occupy all his principal fortresses and the Grand Army would march home in triumph.

On the evening that the French entered Moscow, a few fires started. No-one was surprised at that, as the troops had lost no time in starting to loot the city and many of them were already drunk; so such accidents were to be expected.

After their many weeks of privation, Moscow was a bonanza. Not only were there big stores of flour and grain, but all the palaces and four-fifths of the houses had been abandoned by their owners. The cellars of many of them were well stocked with wine and brandy, there were frozen meat, fish and game in the ice pits, cakes, sweets and preserved fruit in the larders. There was hardly a soldier in Moscow that night not glutted with food, and drunk.

Next day there were many more fires and, tinder the pretext of saving things from the flames, the troops got down to looting on a grand scale. They ransacked every building, carrying off fine clothes, weapons, jeweled icons, brocade curtains, furniture and even chandeliers. To show their contempt for religion, they stalled their horses in the churches, chopped up for firewood the beautifully carved panels and stalls and used the altars as dinner tables. The sacred vessels of gold and silver were melted down and the relics of saints thrown out into the street.

But the fires soon became a serious menace, and it was realised that few of them were the result of accident. Among the people left in the city there was a considerable number of shaggy, bearded men dressed in a sort of uniform that consisted of a dirty, belted sheepskin kaftan. It transpired that they were convicts, who had been released from prison by Count Rostopchin before he left the city. Whether he had given them their freedom on condition that they became incendiaries, or whether they were inspired by a fanatical patriotism, was never satisfactorily determined. But they were setting fire to houses all over the place, and not even bothering to conceal what they were doing from the French.

Mortier, whom the Emperor had made Governor of the city, set about rounding them up. But by then it was too late. By the night of the 15th, three-quarters of Moscow was blazing, and the lurid glare of the flames was such that, three miles outside the city, one could read a book by their light.

Next day fire threatened the Kremlin. Berthier went up one of the towers to assess the danger of the situation, and nearly fell off the battlements which, had he done so, would have caused many of his compatriots to rejoice. His report was so alarming that Napoleon was persuaded to leave and move to the Petrovsky Palace outside the walk. It was too small to accommodate all his staff in comfort, so they suffered much inconvenience. On the fourth day they were able to return to the Kremlin. It had been saved and, by then, most of the fires had been put out; but the greater part of Moscow was a smoking ruin.

The looting and carousing continued. Some fifteen thousand of the poorer people had remained in the city, so there was a considerable number of girls and not too elderly women who, willing or unwilling, were available to the troops, who then settled down to enjoy themselves. But the Emperor's staff were far from enjoying themselves in the Kremlin, for daily he became more ill-tempered and difficult to please.

No plenipotentiary had arrived from the Czar to beg him to state the terms on which he would go home. Greatly worried, he decided to write to Alexander and point out to him that he was very wrong to inflict such misery on his people when all he had to do was to enter into a mutually satisfactory arrangement, and their sufferings would cease. Two letters were dispatched by Russian officers who had been taken prisoner. Whether either of them reached his destination he never knew, but he received no answer.

His next move was to send one of his own officers, General Lauriston, to Kutuzov who by then had moved his main force down to Tula, with the object of attempting to cut the Grand Army's communications. Lauriston returned to report that all Kutuzov would say was that his master had declared that he 'would sooner grow a beard and live off potatoes than make peace as long as a single French soldier remained on Russian soil'.

It now seemed that there was no alternative for the Grand Army but to winter in Moscow, call up all the reinforcements possible and launch a new campaign in the spring to take St. Petersburg. Berthier was ordered to produce his 'Bible', as the staff called the roster of the strength of every unit in the Army that he kept with such meticulous care. Together they went into the figures. It emerged that if the Emperor called up Macdonald's corps and the Prussians from the Baltic coast, that of St. Cyr, which had been left in the neighborhood of Vitebsk, and Victor's from Smolensk, both employed in guarding the army's line of communications, Schwarzenberg's thirty thousand Austrians who had so far fired hardly a shot, and drew on the garrisons of the fortresses in Poland, Prussia and Germany, he could again have at his disposal an army of half a million troops. But how was he to feed them?

Murat's cavalry had already been dispatched far and wide to seize every head of cattle, bag of flour and bale of hay they could lay their hands on, but it seemed to the French, who were used to the highly populated areas of western and southern Europe that Moscow had been set down in a vast, almost uninhabited plain. Still worse, Murat reported that the Cossacks were becoming more daring. Only a few days before they had encountered one of his regiments, killed its Colonel and cut a great part of it to pieces. They appeared to be closing in on every side.

So, all through September and into October the scene darkened for Napoleon.

It was on the morning of the 7th that Roger, as A.D.C. on first duty, reported to him and, after an abrupt nod, the Emperor snapped:

'Breuc, you are a friend of the Czar?'

Roger hesitated only a moment. He could not guess what was coming, but knew the Emperor's fabulous memory too well to lie about such a matter. He could only pray that it had not somehow come to Napoleon's ears that he had spent a good part of the spring in St. Petersburg. Bowing, he replied:

'I have the honour to be acquainted with His Imperial Majesty, Sire.' Then he held his breath.

Napoleon regarded him glumly. 'Yes, I recall that after you were taken prisoner at Eylau he arranged for you to be exchanged; and one day at Erfurt I noticed in my police report that you had had a private audience with him.'

'That is so, Sire.'

'Then you must go to him for me. Either he fails to receive my letters or he ignores them. I am convinced the former is the case. He is eccentric and at times has idiotic dreams of bringing in dangerous reforms which would hamstring his own authority; but he is by no means a fool. He must be made to realise that things cannot continue like this. Our people have already cut a great swathe a hundred miles wide, from Kovno to Moscow, through his country, and brought ruin to Vilna, Vitebsk and Smolensk, not to mention scores of smaller places. And Moscow! Just think what has befallen this once splendid city! Does he want me to winter here, then march on St. Petersburg in the spring and cause it also to be destroyed? Surely not!

'Tell him that I will not be unreasonable. I will withdraw my support from the Poles, so that he can do what he likes in Poland. He can have eastern Prussia too, as compensation for the damage done to Russia. You can even promise that he can have Constantinople when, together, we have defeated the Turk. Later I can think again about that. But peace we must make, and soon. He cannot know it, but our situation here is becoming desperate. Get us out of it and that will be as great a service to me as winning a major battle. I cannot give you a Marshal's baton, but I will make you a Duke. You will, of course, go under a flag of truce. Take any escort you require. Go now, Breuc, and for God's sake persuade him to see reason.'

Using the sort of Gasconerie that Napoleon liked about him Roger, instead of bowing himself out, sprang to attention, threw up his head, cried, 'To hear is to obey, Sire! turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

He could not have been more pleased at being chosen for this mission, as to find a means of communicating with the Czar had been on his conscience for some time. He could, as Alexander had suggested, have let himself be taken prisoner; but in this campaign, that would have entailed a very considerable risk. Few Russians were allowing themselves to be captured. They seemed to prefer fighting to the death, and this disregard for life frequently led them to kill off any prisoners they took. Roger would have liked to honour his bond, but was not prepared to make what might prove a futile attempt, and possibly throw away his life for nothing. As there seemed no other way in which he could convey information about the state to which the Grand Army had been reduced, he had let matters slide. Now he could report to Alexander with little risk; but he decided against taking an escort, as when he did reach St. Petersburg it would have proved a great embarrassment. Three quarters of an hour later, he was on his way to the northern capital.

For the first twenty miles, while passing through the zone strongly held by Murat's cavalry, he wore his uniform; then, when he judged himself to be well into no-man's-land, he rode into a wood, unpacked his valise, and changed into the civilian suit he had been wearing when the French arrived in Vilna. Back on the road again, he kept a sharp look out for patrols of Cossacks. He felt fairly confident that, if challenged, he could satisfy anyone who questioned him, as three months among the Russians in the spring had enabled him to become fluent in that language. But junior officers and N.C.O.S could, at times, prove stupid and dangerous, so he was anxious to avoid having to give an account of himself.

In the next two hours he saw three groups of horsemen in the distance, but managed to keep well away from them, and none of them gave chase. That evening he halted at Tver, and at the hostelry there gave himself out to be a Lithuanian timber merchant. The following night he spent at Volochek, then got up very early the next morning to cover the long stretch to Chudova. From there it was not, for him, a hard day's ride to St. Petersburg, and he entered the capital late on the afternoon of October 10th.

Having handed his horse over to an ostler at the Laughing Tartar, he went into the hostelry to refresh himself, and learned that the Czar was in residence at the Winter Palace. An hour later he was there and had sent up his name. He had to wait until past eight o'clock, then a Chamberlain summoned him to the presence.

Alexander gave him a smiling greeting, extended his hand to be kissed and said, 'Mr. Brook, we congratulate you; and upon two counts. Firstly on having survived the appalling slaughter of the past five months. Secondly, on having succeeded in returning to us. We hoped you would, but feared you might find it too dangerous an enterprise.'

Roger returned the smile. 'Sire, I have been awaiting a favourable opportunity; for there would have been no sense in my setting out with a good prospect of being killed. But fortune has been most kind to me. I come to Your Imperial Majesty now as the envoy of the Emperor.'

'Well, well!' The Czar gave a hearty laugh. 'You are the cleverest fellow that ever we did meet.'

Roger did not deny it, but said, 'I think, Sire, the Emperor was influenced in his choice of me because he knows that Your Imperial Majesty has done me the honour to receive me on previous occasions.'

'And in what way can we be of service to your… er…master?'

With equal irony, Roger replied, 'Merely by acknowledging that he has fought a victorious campaign, and again entering into an alliance with him; but this time agreeing to accept him as your overlord.'

They both laughed, then Alexander's blue eyes grew serious and he said firmly, 'We stand by the declaration we made to our people. We would sooner grow a beard and live on potatoes than make peace as long as a single French soldier remains on Russian soil. Now tell us how things are in Moscow.'

For the next quarter of an hour Roger described the state of the city and gave the approximate strength of the enemy forces based on it. He concluded by saying:

'During the past weeks the supply trains that were intended to support the Grand Army during its advance have come up. There were also considerable stores left behind in the city. These have restored to health both men and horses. But they cannot last indefinitely. Within a few weeks now the Emperor will be driven into taking a decision. His army has been so reduced that he could not order another advance with any hope of success. Therefore he must do one of two things: either winter in Moscow and risk his army starving until it is so weak that it could easily be overwhelmed, or endeavour to fight his way back to Poland.'

The Czar nodded. 'Yes, we have him. Whichever course he adopts his defeat is now certain. How right the Prince Royal of Sweden was in advising us to adopt the scorched earth policy. He is also convinced that, should Napoleon decide to abandon Moscow, we shall have him at our mercy. We will harass him every step of the way, and ice and snow will do the rest.'

Roger agreed, then said, 'It is, Sire, now several months since I have heard any news out of England. Would Your Imperial Majesty be gracious enough to inform me if any events of importance have taken place?'

'Indeed, yes. There has been a change of government. In May Mr. Perceval had the misfortune to be assassinated. We have no details, but gather that it was by the hand of a madman who had some private grudge against him. He has been succeeded as Prime Minister by Lord Liverpool, who has retained Lord Castlereagh as Foreign Secretary.'

Giving a slight shrug, Roger commented, 'A sad business, Sire. But the change should be all to the good. Mr. Perceval was an upright and kindly man, but not very forceful. I think that Lord Liverpool, particularly with Castlereagh to aid him, will press the war more vigorously. How stands the prospect of Your Imperial Majesty entering into an alliance with England?'

'We signed a peace in July, so are now allies.'

'That is good news indeed, Sire.'

Getting up from his desk, the Czar walked over to a buhl cabinet, unlocked it and took from it a ribbon to which was attached an enamel star set with small brilliants. Turning, he said:

'We would not have you think us ungrateful, Mr. Brook, for bringing us such good tidings. This is the Order of St. Anne and we make you a Chevalier of it.' He then passed the ribbon over Roger's head and round his neck.

Greatly delighted, Roger went down on one knee, kissed the Czar's hand and expressed his gratitude. Receiving such a decoration could hardly be compared to being made a Duke, but he had not even considered attempting to earn the reward offered by Napoleon. Next moment his happiness was abruptly doused, as Alexander spoke again:

'And now, Mr. Brook, return as speedily as you can to Moscow. Give Napoleon our reply to his request that we should enter into negotiations, then endeavour to find out the line of retreat that he intends his army to take should he decide to evacuate Moscow. This could be of great importance to us. We do not ask you to risk yourself by endeavoring to come again to St. Petersburg. But you could easily hide yourself when the French leave Moscow, then give such information as you have obtained to the first of our Generals to enter the city.'

Having got safely away from the Grand Army, Roger was most averse to returning to it. He had left England the previous December, expecting to be away in Sweden for only a few weeks; but between them Bernadotte and the Czar had already prevented him from going home for ten months. He would have protested and pleaded to be spared this new task; but by decorating him Alexander had skillfully entrapped him and made him feel that he could not decently refuse to be of further service. Stifling his annoyance as best he could, he again kissed the Czar's hand and bowed himself backward out of the room.

Roger would have liked to remain in St. Petersburg for a few days. But he knew that all his younger friends would have gone to the war, and that if he called on the older ones it would soon get to the ears of the Czar that he had disobeyed the Imperial injunction to return to Moscow as speedily as possible; so he reluctantly decided to take the road again the following morning.

He had no means of knowing whether Napoleon would elect to submit his army to semi starvation by remaining in Moscow throughout the winter, or if he would decide on a withdrawal, at least to Smolensk; but he thought the latter more probable, as it would greatly shorten the distance supply trains from Poland would have to cover.

In either case food was going to be extremely short, and even the Emperor's entourage would have to make do on meagre rations. Concerned as ever about his own material well being which more than once had saved his life Roger debated with himself what foodstuff he could buy in St. Petersburg that was easily portable and had a high quality for sustaining vigour. Eventually he decided on marzipan, as it was composed solely of sugar and almonds, a compound hardly to be bettered for stimulating energy.

Leaving his hostelry he walked to the great, covered bazaar. Under the scores of small domes, an incredible variety of things could be bought there: food of all kinds, weapons, clothes, furs, jewels and a multitude of other items. Easing his way through the crowds of haggling people, he found a sweet seller who had a number of large slabs of marzipan from which he cut off pieces according to the quantity required.

Having tasted a sample and judged the quality to be satisfactory, Roger asked the vendor to weigh his whole stock. Much surprised, the man complied. It came to eleven and a quarter kilos. Being of the opinion that during the coming months such a reserve of food might be of more value than pistols, Roger had it in mind to store the marzipan in his pistol holsters, even if he had to sacrifice one pistol and stick the other through his sash; so he enquired the price of the marzipan. The man did a quick calculation on his abacus and gave it him. After several minutes of bargaining, Roger got it reduced by a third, produced the money and had the sweetmeat packed up.

As it was being handed to him he distinctly heard Georgina's voice. That had happened on a few previous occasions when he had been in great danger. Although she was unconscious of it, the strange psychic link between them had enabled her to warn him and inspire him as to how best to escape the peril he was in. Now she was saying:

'Look to your right! Roger, be quick! Look to your right!'

Amazed as he was that in his present harmless occupation any danger should be threatening him, his hand nevertheless flew to his sword hilt, and he swiveled round as she had directed him.

No villainous figure was about to come at him with a knife, or was aiming a pistol at him. The only person at the next stall was a short woman, wearing the clothes of a Russian bourgeoisie and a scarf that partially hid her brown hair. She had just completed the purchase of a pair of soft leather boots. As she handed the money across the stall to pay for them she was only ten feet away from him. He gave a gasp. It seemed incredible, but he could not possibly be mistaken. She was the girl who, before her marriage, had been Lady Mary Ware.

21

A New Problem

Next moment, the girl had taken her parcel and turned away. Roger sprang after her, grabbed her by the arm and cried:

'Mary! What in heaven's name are you doing here?'

Swinging round she stared at him. Her green eyes opened wide and she dropped her parcel. Both of them stooped to pick it up and bumped their heads together. Laughing, they drew back, and Mary exclaimed:

'But you! How come you to be in St. Petersburg?'

He shook his head and put a finger to his lips. 'I'll tell you later. But by what extraordinary coincidences we meet. Last summer in Richmond Park when I did not even know that you were back in England, and now here, of all places.'

'There was nothing extraordinary about our happening upon each other outside your home, but to do so here is, I agree, passing strange.' Suddenly Mary's pretty face became very grave and she went on, 'Oh, Roger, I cannot say how pleased I am to see you. I am in trouble; most grievous trouble.'

He smiled. 'Then you must tell me of it. I doubt not that I can find a remedy and would be most pleased to do so.'

'Not here. We can't talk here, and I'd prefer not to take you to the place where I am dwelling.'

'We'll go to the hostelry where I am lying, then, the Laughing Tartar. 'Tis one of the best in St. Petersburg.'

Roger collected his twenty-four pounds of marzipan, gave his free arm to Mary and they walked to his inn. In those times no hotelier ever dreamed of questioning the use a gentleman made of the chamber he had hired; so Roger took Mary straight upstairs to his bedroom.

Throwing his heavy parcel on the bed, he settled Mary in an elbow chair, poured for them both glasses of rabinowka a liqueur made from blackberries, to which he was partial and said, 'Now, tell me the worst, and we'll see in what way I can help you.'

She gave a heavy sigh. 'Roger, I am in desperate straits. I am marooned here, and cannot get home because I have no money.'

He raised his eyebrows. 'I thought your husband was a rich merchant. But let that wait, and start at the beginning. How in the world do you come to be in Russia at all?'

'I, too, believed Mr. Wicklow to be a rich man,' she replied sadly. 'And, until a few years ago, he was. But, as is the case with many other merchants, Bonaparte's Continental System brought about his ruin. When I married him he was already heavily in debt. It was not until later that I learned that. At the time he had hopes of mending his fortune; but, alas, they did not mature. His principal trade had always been with Russia. This spring his creditors were pressing him so hard that he feared to be made bankrupt and thrown into the Debtors' Prison. He then decided on one last, desperate venture. Secretly, he sold our house and all its contents to a Jew, on condition that the man should not take possession until we were gone from London.

'With the money Mr. Wicklow bought a cargo of such goods as are always easily saleable on the Russian market. He told me nothing of all this, but said I must accompany him on the voyage. As I have ever delighted in sea voyages, and seeing foreign parts, I made no objection. All went well until we entered the Gulf of Finland. There was still much ice about. In the night a storm blew up, and our ship was driven into an iceberg. It was not a large berg, but must have had a big, jagged point below the water. It holed the ship. The sea gushed into the hold and she listed dangerously. The men worked desperately at the pumps; but it was of no avail. Within an hour the ship, with all our cargo, went down.⁵

'Oh, my dear,' Roger shook his head. 'What evil fortune for you.'

'Alas, I have not told you the worst. Half frozen from the icy water, we succeeded in getting ashore. Some fisher folk succored us most generously and did what they could for us in their poor huts. We were no great distance from St. Petersburg, and when we were somewhat recovered made our way here. The people at the English Factory that is the great, enclosed area with many warehouses in which our merchants store their goods took us in.'

'I know the place. When I first came to St. Petersburg, I lived there for a while with the chaplain, a delightful and most erudite man, the Reverend William Tooke. But he is long since returned to England.'

'Well, they allotted us a lodging and Mr. Wicklow made a last attempt to restore his shattered fortunes. He had saved his bag of guineas and added to the sum by requesting me to let him sell the few small trinkets I possessed; which, by then knowing his circumstances, I willingly agreed to do But he went about this last endeavour in a most ill advised manner. He began to frequent a gaming house.'

'The fool! Any merchant should have known better.'

'There I agree, and I became greatly worried. 'Tis not, though, a wife's place to tell her husband how he should endeavour to increase his capital; and, to begin with, he was very lucky. When I learned that he had amassed quite a considerable sum, I endeavoured to persuade him to take me back to England. But he could not, for he owed so much money there that he would have been lodged in Newgate. Then his luck turned. For three nights in succession he lost heavily. On the fourth morning he confessed to me that he had not a kopek left. We were reduced to beggary.'

'Oh, my poor Mary! When I come face to face with this criminal oaf, I'll horsewhip the hide off him for having landed you in such an awful situation.'

'No, Roger, you will not. Though he deserves it for having abandoned me.'

'What! Do you mean the villain has made off and left you penniless in a foreign city?'

'He has, indeed, if "made off" is the right expression. But he has gone to a place from which there is no return. Having borrowed from his cronies and in particular an elderly, pockmarked Russian merchant named Suslov, until they would lend him no more, six weeks ago he put a pistol to his head and blew out his brains.'

'Mary! Mary!' Roger exclaimed in distress. 'This is the end. No woman could have been cursed with more dire misfortune.'