Dennis Wheatley - The Dark Secret of Josephine

She motioned Roger to a chair and said as she sat down on another: "I would be a heartless wretch were I not sensible of the gratitude I owe him. No woman could ever have had a more generous protector. As for the future that this marriage promises, yesterday I went with Theresa Tallien to consult the sibyl Le Normand. Should only half the things that she predicts for it come true few fortunes could equal mine. I am still overwhelmed by the things she told me."

"She has a great reputation," Roger smiled. "And I am truly de­lighted that the omens should be favourable. Will you not tell me what she said?"

"It sounds utterly fantastic. She spoke of palaces and crowns. She said that Buonaparte's star is the most brilliant in all the heavens. That Kings will bow down to him. That he will make me a Queen. That in his footsteps my Eugene will also become a great General. He will, too, be a Prince, and little Hortense like myself a Queen."

For a moment Roger wondered uneasily if any of this might be due to true second-sight, or if it was simply that the sibyl had given him full measure in payment for his gold. Then Josephine caught his attention again as she went on:

"I'd not believe a word of it, but for one thing. When I was a young girl in Martinique an old negro woman of partly Irish descent predicted just such a future for me. More, she also foretold the troubles that would come upon France, my marriage to M. de Beauharnais, and the manner of his death."

Roger was much impressed and no little perturbed; but true to his principle that first things must come first, he said seriously: "Such confirmation can leave you in no doubt of your destiny. Pray, Madame, accept my congratulations. With your permission then, I will return to Barras and tell him the good news; leaving it to you to acquaint General Buonaparte that through you he is to receive the first step to his magnificent fortune."

"Nay! wait!" She stretched out a hand to stop him as he rose.

"What!" he exclaimed. "Surely you cannot mean that you are still troubled by doubts?"

"Yes. Indeed I am!"

"How can you even contemplate the rejection of these great gifts that the gods are prepared to shower on you and your children?"

"I do not wish to; but it may be that I must."

"How so? You are your own mistress! What in the world is there to prevent your marrying General Buonaparte other than your own hesitations?"

Instead of answering his question, she leaned forward and said earnestly: "Monsieur, you are most sympathetic. Although our acquaintance is a short one, I feel that you are my friend. You are, I know, a great friend of Paul Barras. Could you persuade him to grant me a favour?"

Roger returned her glance with some surprise. "Madame, I can hardly think that my influence with him is greater than your own. But I will willingly serve you in any way I can.

"It concerns Citizen Fouché. Much ill has been said of him, but he is a good man at heart His calumniators have brought about his ruin, but I would much like to see his excellent mind once more employed in the interests of his country. If you would serve me, use your utmost endeavours to persuade Barras to give him some suitable appointment"

"Forgive me, Madame, if, before agreeing to do as you wish, I ask you one question. What has this to do with the project of your marriage?"

Josephine began to twist her fingers together in evident agitation. "I beg you, Monsieur, do not press me on that. It concerns a matter in my past which I would prefer not to discuss. Please let it suffice that though I do not love General Buonaparte, I would do my best to make him a good wife—if ... if only this other matter could be settled."

"Madame, you imply that Fouché is holding you to ransom?"

"No, no! He is most well disposed towards me, and acting in this as my friend. It is for that reason I wish to oblige him. He comes of a shipping family that once owned estates in the West Indies but the Revolution robbed him of any private income, and now that he is no longer a Deputy he is in sad straits."

Her mention of the West Indies suddenly rang a bell in Roger's brain. Coming to his feet, he exclaimed: "I have it now! Fouché has found out about your marriage to William de Kay."

Josephine's big eyes widened. Springing up, she gasped: "How . .. how can you know aught of that?*

Roger had to think quickly. After a second he replied: "When I was living in England I had the story from a Mr. Beckwith, a British merchant who had lived in Martinique for many years."

"I knew him," Josephine murmured, pale to the lips. "Oh, Monsieur! You are wrong in thinking that it is Fouché who is blackmailing me, but right in thinking that I am again being victimized on account of that youthful folly. It has proved the curse of my life."

"I happened to hear of it only by the merest chance, and would have thought it by now long since forgotten."

"I had hoped it was, or at least that I was cleared of it A few years after I was married to M. de Beauharnais, ill-fortune caused us to take a mulatto among our servants. He turned out to be the brother of a woman slave who had been brought up in my father's household, and from her he had had the whole story. He demanded money from me as the price of his silence. For a time I paid him; then when I could no longer afford to meet his demands, I told my husband. I swore to my innocence and he believed me. All would have been well but for an evil woman who pretended to be my friend while having designs upon him. She so worked upon his mind that he decided to go to Martinique and ferret out the truth. When he returned he brought an action with intent to repudiate me. Fortunately for myself, good friends of mine succeeded in having the case removed from Paris to a provincial court where he had no influence. There was no proof that my marriage to William de Kay was a legal one, or that it had been consummated; so a verdict was given in my favour. Later my husband and myself were reconciled, and I lulled myself into the belief that I had been punished enough for the deceit I had practised on my parents."

"Indeed you have, Madame. But I beg you to calm yourself. That this mulatto rogue should have appeared again is naturally a grave annoyance to you, but now he should not prove difficult to deal with."

"He has no part in this. I know it for certain that he was killed in a riot during the Revolution."

"I see. So some other is now attempting to blackmail you. Am I to understand that Fouché is acting as your agent, and endeavouring to buy this person's silence?"

"Not that, exactly. I am not quite so simple as to fail to realize that in serving me he hopes to serve himself. But I think him right in his contention that it is far better to eliminate the blackmailer than to pay, perhaps indefinitely. His suggestion is that, if I could obtain for him some Ministerial office or high appointment in the Police, without giving any reason he could issue a warrant for the rogue, then secure an order for his deportation; and that would be the end of the matter."

"But Madame, one moment!" Roger spread out his hands. "Why allow the restoration of your peace of mind to be dependent on restoring

Fouché's fortunes? Why not go direct to Barras? He could do all that is required with a stroke of the pen."

"It is not so simple, Monsieur. Fouché refuses to reveal the identity of the blackmailer."

"Even so, Barras could deal with this. He could put his police on to shadow Fouché night and day. The one rogue would soon lead them to the other, and the whole affair be settled without causing you the least embarrassment."

"No," she shook her head violently. "That I will not have. Fouché may be a rogue, but he knows how to keep a secret Barras does not. He is the biggest gossip in all Paris. Did I confide in him it would ultimately do me near as much damage as if I allowed the blackmailer to do his worst."