Dennis Wheatley - The Rising Storm

"It was in this dilemma that I thought to send it by a stranger, the man de Roubec. He was recommended to me by the Marquis de St. Huruge, whom I now judge to be one of the many traitors that infest the Court. It is yourself I have to thank for having saved me from that, and I now feel that I should have sent last night to let you know that I had not forgotten it. For I do assure you, Monsieur, that even had I not learned the truth I should have counted your service to me as going a long way to mitigate any sentence that His Majesty proposed to inflict upon you."

Roger smiled. "I thank you, Madame; although, knowing de Roubec, it was an act I would have performed to protect the interests of any lady."

"Nevertheless, Monsieur, I happened to be that lady, and you served me well. But now about yourself. I sent Monsieur de Besenval for you with his guards deliberately tonight, and gave him orders to march you through die gallery outside my ante-room, then downstairs to a closed carriage, just as my reception was breaking up. Having witnessed your departure in such circumstances the whole Court will now believe you to be in the Bastille, and even if you are seen at liberty later my enemies will never believe you to be any friend of mine. In this way I have sought to give you immunity from their attentions, and I trust you will be able to convey this despatch to its destination without encountering any opposition."

As she handed the packet to him he saw that it bore no super­scription, so he asked: "To whom am I to bear it, Madame ?"

"To my younger brother, the Grand Duke of Tuscany," she replied. "For some time past reports from Vienna have informed me that my elder brother, the Emperor, has been seriously ill, so he has no longer been in a state to take his former interest in my affairs. It is on that account that the Grand Duke Leopold is showing additional concern for me. He wrote recently asking that I should furnish him with full particulars of the crisis with which we are faced, and my own personal views as to what course events are likely to take. This despatch contains all the information he has requested of me, including my private opinions of Monsieur Necker and the other Ministers in whose hands His Majesty has now placed himself. Some of those opinions are by no means favourable, so I need hardly stress how vital it is that this document should not fall into the hands of my enemies. If it did it would certainly prove my ruin."

"Have no fear, Madame," Roger said firmly. "No one shall take it from me while I live, and His Highness the Grand Duke shall know your views as swiftly as strong horses can carry me to Florence."

"I thank you from my heart, Monsieur," sighed the Queen, and once more there were tears in her eyes. Then she drew a fine diamond ring from her finger and added: "Take this and sell it to cover the expenses of your journey; or, if you prefer, keep it as a souvenir of an unhappy woman."

Roger took the ring and, kneeling, kissed the beautiful white hand that she extended to him.

As he rose and backed towards the door, she raised her voice and called: "Isabella! Isabella, my child! Pray conduct Monsieur le Chevalier back to the carriage."

At her call the Senorita opened the door behind him and led the way out down the steps of the little pavilion into the semi-darkness of the shrubbery.

“You have accepted Her Majesty's mission, Monsieur?" she asked in her soft voice.

“Willingly, Senorita," he replied. "And it would not surprise me overmuch if it was yourself who proposed me for this honour."

"Her Majesty was at her wits' end for a messenger who would not be suspected by her enemies," murmured the Senorita, "and I had the happy thought that you did not seem the type of man to bear a grudge, so might be willing to serve her in this emergency." Then she added quickly:

"The carriage will take you the first stage of your journey south during the night. In it you will find your valise with all your things. Monsieur de Vaudreuil packed them for you and brought them here himself. It remains, Monsieur, only for me to wish you a safe and pleasant journey."

They had traversed the short path while they were speaking, and already come out into the open, where the carriage waited some ten yards away. As they halted he turned to face her for a moment in the moonlight. In it her olive complexion no longer looked near-sallow, and her black eyebrows no longer seemed to overpower her long oval face. It suddenly came to Roger that in her own strange way she was beautiful.

He said in a low voice: "Directly my mission is accomplished I shall return to Versailles. May I hope, Senorita, that you will permit me to wait upon you there; for I should much like to develop our acquaintance."

She shook her head. "I fear that is not to be, Monsieur; and that our . . . yes, let us say friendship, in view of the secret that we share, must end here. When the Court moves tomorrow I leave it to quit France and return to my parents, so 'tis most unlikely that we shall ever meet again."

But the Fates had interwoven the destinies of these two, and while they thought they were making a final parting it was decreed that they were to cross one another's paths again quite soon. And, by the weaving of those same Fates, Queen Marie Antoinette, who be­lieved that she might yet enjoy many happy years with her husband and children, was never to witness the setting of another sun at Fontainebleau.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE UNWORTHY PRIEST

ROGER'Stentative bid to start an affaire with the Senorita d'Aranda was no more than a momentary impulse, brought about through the addi­tional attraction lent her by the moonlight. No sooner was the carriage bowling down the avenue than she had passed entirely from his thoughts and his whole mind became occupied with the Queen.

He was already aware that during the past twenty minutes he had been very far from his normal self. That was partly due to the stunning suddenness with which his despair of escaping a long spell of imprison­ment had been dissipated. But he felt that it must be something more than that which had caused him to use expressions of such extravagant devotion to Madame Marie Antoinette, and declare himself so instantly ready to undertake a mission for her.

He had got only so far in his musings when the carriage, having reached the entrance of the park, drew to a halt. The coachman lifted the little panel in its roof and, out of the darkness, his voice came down to Roger:

"Where do you wish me to drive you, Monsieur?"

It was a pleasant surprise that the man had no definite instructions; as Roger had vaguely anticipated being set down some ten miles south of Fontainebleau, then, for his own purposes, having to drive all the way back to Paris the following day.

"Can you take me as for as Paris?" he asked.

"Certainly, Monsieur," replied the coachman. The little trap flipped to and they set off again.

Roger's mind at once reverted to Madame Marie Antoinette; and, while he admitted to himself that the extraordinary fascination she exerted had been the cause of his pledging himself so wholeheartedly, he was relieved to think that he had nevertheless kept his head suffi­ciently well not to forget the interests of Mr. Pitt.

The Prime Minister was not dependent on him for information as to what happened when the States General met, the issue of fresh edicts by the Court, a change of Ministers or renewed resistance by the parliaments to the Royal Authority. All that, and much more, he would learn from the official despatches that the Duke of Dorset sent at least once a week to the Duke of Leeds at the Foreign Office. Roger's province was to collect special information, particularly about the private lives and intentions of the principal protagonists in the coming struggle. Of these the King and Queen were clearly by far the most important; so if by undertaking a secret journey for the latter he could return from it with the prospect of being given her full confidence, his absence for some weeks from the storm-centre should more than repay him later for the loss of any smaller fish that might have swum into his net had he remained in Paris.