The Sultan's Daughter (74 page)

Jenny had also been up for a good part of the night, while Colonel Thursby dozed next door in the boudoir; but in the morning he took over while Roger slept. That evening all three of them were sitting near Georgina's bed when, to their joy, she opened her eyes.

When Roger bent over her, she recognised him, but was not fully conscious. From, her whispered words, they gathered that she believed herself to be dead, that Roger had died somewhere abroad before her and, as they had always promised, the first to go should be there to welcome the other.

During the second night, her breathing was easier and she was able to swallow larger doses of the mulled wine and apple purée. On the second day she was obviously stronger and, when awake, hovered in a land halfway between reality and dreams, often murmuring endearments to Roger. But when evening came her temperature rose and she became delirious. Throughout that night, while Georgina tossed and turned and raved, they spent some terribly anxious hours, but at about four o'clock in the morning she again appeared to fall into a coma and, as Roger had to leave that morning, the 31st, for London, Colonel Thursby persuaded him to go to bed.

As soon as he woke, he went in to her again, to find her sleeping; but the doctor, who had arrived on his morning visit, said that all hopes for her recovery now depended entirely on her not having another relapse, for her powers of resistance were still so low that she would die of it from sheer exhaustion.

At ten o'clock she was still asleep and Roger had to tear himself away from her bedside to set out for London. His sleep and a good breakfast had restored his strength to some extent, but the events of the past week had put so great a strain upon him that he was far from being himself; so, still a prey to acute anxiety, he decided that, instead of riding, he would drive up in Colonel Thursby's coach.

When he arrived at the Foreign Office, there was a message for him that he was to go to No. 10 Downing Street at four o'clock. It was cold and miserable and he had two hours to kill. First he went to Amesbury House in Arlington Street, but his old friend ‘Droopy Ned' was not at home. Feeling that he could not face talking to people at his club, instead of going to White's he had a meal in a chop-house. He then spent three-quarters of an hour in Westminster Abbey, praying that Georgina might live.

At four o'clock he was shown up to the Prime Minister's
room on the first floor of No. 10. Tall, lean, grey, his face more lined than ever with care, Mr. Pitt was sitting at his desk. Lord Grenville was with him. As Roger entered they both rose and shook him warmly by the hand then, waving him to a chair, the Prime Minister said:

‘You have been long away, Mr. Brook, but far from idle as we know. Admiral Nelson wrote twice, commending you most highly for having obtained two of General Bonaparte's despatches for him, and the detailed report of the situation in Egypt that you sent back to me has proved most valuable. But clearly you have been anything but successful in carrying out my wish with regard to Bonaparte. It seems that the cards were stacked against you, and that you might bring about his ruin was too much to expect. At all events he is now firmly in the saddle.'

Roger frowned. ‘You surprise me, sir, in harking back to that.'

‘Why should I not, seeing that the man has just achieved a position in which he has the power to do this country far greater damage than before?'

‘The power, yes; but … sir, I do not understand. Your instructions were given to me near two years ago. Since then there have been new developments. The situation has become entirely different. I have never yet deceived you in anything, and I will now admit that I aided General Bonaparte to become First Consul'.

‘You … you mean to tell me that you deliberately acted contrary to my orders?'

‘I did,' replied Roger firmly. ‘As an Englishman, watching Britain's interests in a foreign land, I have, in the past, more than once used my own judgment. In this case I did so again. In other matters I have not been proved wrong. This time what possible grounds can you advance for bringing my judgment into question? But for General Bonaparte's having become First Consul, with M. de Talleyrand as his Foreign Minister, the letters I delivered to my Lord Grenville three days ago would never have been penned. They offer Peace, sir. Peace after eight years of war! And no other Government in France would ever have made this blessed overture to us.'

Mr. Pitt tapped a paper lying in front of him, then put his fingertips together. ‘You refer, Mr. Brook, to this letter. That you should have succeeded in having yourself appointed
Envoyé Extraordinaire
to bring it to London fills me with amazement and admiration. But we have had to bear in mind the man by whom it was written. It is clear to me that you have fallen under his spell. Therefore I attach no blame to you for having become one of his partisans. But we, here in London, judge him by his deeds. He is a proved liar, an atheist, a thief, a blackguard of the meanest order. What faith could His Majesty's Government put in the protestations of such a man? I am convinced he has sent this letter only to trick us.'

‘Then you are wrong! Wrong, utterly wrong!' Roger burst out. ‘I know that he started life as a revolutionary. He may be all you say. But he has other qualities. He is above politics and has only the welfare of France at heart. Apart from a handful of Jacobins, everyone in France longs for Peace. General Bonaparte knows that and his most earnest wish is to give it to them. M. de Talleyrand, whom I know well, has ever maintained that no lasting prosperity can come to Britain and France unless they make an accommodation over their differences.'

‘Talleyrand,' Grenville cut in. ‘That revolting ex-priest, who would sell his own mother for a guinea! His corruption and immorality stink in the nostrils of the whole world.'

‘By God, m'Lord, I resent your assessment of him,' Roger cried angrily. ‘His morals I'll not seek to defend, but I'd shed my own blood in defence of my opinion that he is the friend of England.'

‘Enough, Mr. Brook!' the Prime Minister broke in. ‘It is understandable that you should have conceived a personal attachment to these people while so long resident in France. The standards there are very different from our own. But we must view this matter objectively and, sorry as I am to disappoint you, I fear that the answer you must carry back to France will not please the friends that you have made there.'

‘What!' Roger exclaimed, aghast. ‘Can you possibly mean that you are unwilling to enter into negotiations?'

Grenville had taken a paper from his pocket and he said, ‘Here is the answer to Bonaparte's letter which we wish you to carry back.' Then he read:

Lord Grenville in reply to the Minister of Foreign Relations in Paris
.

Sir
,

I have read and laid before the King the two letters you have transmitted to me; and His Majesty, seeing no reason to depart from those forms which have long been established in Europe for transacting business with foreign States, has commanded me to return, in his name, the official answer which I send you herewith enclosed
.

Then he added, ‘The answer is, of course, that Talleyrand's memorandum of basic requirements is not one upon which we should be prepared to treat.'

‘Depart from forms long established!' Roger quoted angrily. ‘Sir! My Lord! Can you not realise that we have entered a new age. What matter forms if only we can prevent the war going on and save the lives of a million men? I beg you! I beg you on my knees to reconsider this.'

Mr. Pitt shook his head. ‘Nay, Mr. Brook. I realise that your intentions are of the best; but reconsideration is out of the question. His Majesty and the Cabinet are agreed that we might have given the Corsican upstart a chance to prove his sincerity, but for one stipulation. In Talleyrand's memorandum it is stated clearly that France could not agree to King Charles Emmanuel's receiving back his Piedmontese dominions, whereas we have promised to restore him to his throne in Turin.'

‘What!' Roger exclaimed, ‘and he not even Britain's ally in an effective sense! Can you possibly mean that to restore this petty Italian Prince you would deny Peace to the whole of Europe?'

The Prime Minister drew himself up and said haughtily, ‘Mr. Brook, you know well that I have ever desired Peace with my whole heart. But the honour of our country must come before all other considerations, and it is pledged to King Charles Emmanuel.'

‘Just as it was pledged to Austria about the restoration of her Belgian lands,' Roger said with an angry sneer. ‘Had you been willing three years ago to let the French continue in occupation of them, we could have had Peace then. But, no! And with what result? A year later, the Austrians went behind your back and gave them up in exchange for the territories of Venice.'

‘Mr. Brook, you forget yourself…'

‘I forget nothing,' stormed Roger, getting to his feet. ‘As a free Englishman, I'll say my mind to you. Charles Emmanuel still has his island of Sardinia. Let him be content with that rather than that another ocean of British blood should flow to get him back his city of Turin. In your blindness to all that really matters you are rejecting an honest offer. Whatever Bonaparte's past misdeeds, by his sincerity in this he puts you to shame.'

The two statesmen stared at him in awed silence for a moment, then the Prime Minister said, ‘Mr. Brook, you look far from well and I judge you to be overwrought. The decision of His Majesty's Government is unalterable and, when you have had a few days in which to recover, in duty bound, as
Envoyé Extraordinaire
of the First Consul, you must carry our answer back to him. In the meantime, we are not unappreciative of the great services you rendered Admiral Nelson, so my Lord Grenville will send to your bank an order for three thousand pounds on the secret funds.'

‘I thank you, sir,' retorted Roger sharply, ‘but I am not in need of money. Let His Lordship send that sum to Greenwich that it may be used for the relief of our seamen wounded in this war which you have decreed must continue.' Then, white-faced and shaking, he strode from the room.

•     •     •     •     •

Outside it had commenced to snow. From the Bait and Livery Stable, where he had left Colonel Thursby's coach, Roger picked it up and set out on the drive back to Still-waters. It was bitterly cold, pitch dark and the horses had already done twenty-five miles; so the pace was slow. He
did not arrive until a little before ten o'clock, but when he hurried in good news awaited him.

After her sleep that morning, Georgina had shown a marked improvement. She had become fully conscious and had talked with her father that afternoon, although in the evening she had become fretful and every few moments asked for Roger.

Still shivering, he changed out of his clothes then drank a hot posset that was brought to him. When he went in to Georgina he saw that her eyes were open and she smiled at him. Taking her hand he sat down beside her, rejoicing at the much stronger colour now in her cheeks, but he would not let her talk.

After they had sat like that for a long while, he said, ‘You must have your mulled wine now. It is already past the time when you should have gone to sleep.'

‘My wine,' she whispered. ‘Yes. … But don't leave me, Roger. Don't leave me. I'd not be alive were it not for you, Lie down here beside me.'

‘Oh, my beloved beyond all beloveds,' he whispered back and kissed her gently on the brow.

The old century was ending. From the nearby village the church bells, ushering in the year 1800, came clearly on the winter air. Through the bitter prejudice of British statesmen the terrible war, bringing death and misery to every part of Europe, was destined to continue for another fifteen years. But the French Revolution had ended, so better things might be hoped for France and, perhaps, in time, for Britain too. As the New Year came in, Georgina slept peacefully with her head on Roger's shoulder.

DENNIS WHEATLEY

Dennis Wheatley (1897–1977) was an English author whose prolific output of stylish thrillers and occult novels made him one of the world's best-selling writers from the 1930s through the 1960s.

Wheatley was the eldest of three children, and his parents were the owners of Wheatley & Son of Mayfair, a wine business. He admitted to little aptitude for schooling, and was expelled from Dulwich College, London. In 1919 he assumed management of the family wine business but in 1931, after a decline in business due to the depression, he began writing.

His first book,
The Forbidden Territory
, became a bestseller overnight, and since then his books have sold over 50 million copies worldwide. During the 1960s, his publishers sold one million copies of Wheatley titles per year, and his Gregory Sallust series was one of the main inspirations for Ian Fleming's James Bond stories.

During the Second World War, Wheatley was a member of the London Controlling Section, which secretly coordinated strategic military deception and cover plans. His literary talents gained him employment with planning staffs for the War Office. He wrote numerous papers for the War Office, including suggestions for dealing with a German invasion of Britain.

Dennis Wheatley died on 11th November 1977. During his life he wrote over 70 books and sold over 50 million copies.