It was with a heavy heart that Roger rode home that afternoon, to face Mary and tell her of the scurvy trick fate had played them. Anxiously he wondered how she would take the news that he must leave her. Very badly, he was certain, and he was terribly distressed at the thought of the grief he must inflict on her.
He was also grimly conscious of his own misfortune. Gone was the future to which he had looked forward for so long: to leading the life of a well-to-do gentleman of leisure, mingling with high society at gay balls and routs, frequenting the most exclusive clubs and discussing there with the best informed men of the day the latest news from courts and camps, pleasant visits to Brighton and big country houses, sleeping always in comfortable beds, hearing Mary’s merry laughter daily, having Susan and Droopy to stay and, as a priceless spice to life, from time to time renewing his youth by revelling in a hectic night with his beloved Georgina.
Instead, he was doomed, for a time at least, to a renewal of the hard and dangerous existence he had led for so long. He knew from bitter past experience how easy it was, once on the Continent as Colonel Comte de Breuc, to become involved in hazardous undertakings. They could lead to having to spend days on end in the saddle until he was half-dead from exhaustion, to sleeping wrapped in a cloak on the hard ground, to coming unexpectedly face to face with someone who knew him to be an Englishman and who might denounce him as a spy; or, once again, having to gallop through smoke and musket balls carrying orders from Napoleon during one of his battles and fearing every moment to be killed or maimed for life.
But Mary was his immediate worry. In vain he had racked his brain for a way to soften the blow, but there was no avoiding having to deliver it. However, on one aspect of the matter his mind was made up. In no circumstances must she be allowed to know that it was for Georgina’s sake that he was leaving her. And, fortunately, he thought he had the means of preventing her suspecting that.
Following a procedure he had decided upon during his ride from London, when Mary ran out of the house to greet him as he crossed the garden from the stable yard, he gave her only a pale smile and kissed her in a slightly off-handed manner. When she asked him how he had enjoyed his dinner the previous night, he replied, ‘Oh, well enough,’ then said that after freshening himself up he had some letters he must write.
Although he did not put pen to paper, he remained in his small library until the gong sounded for dinner, moodily contemplating the distressing task before him. Over the meal he appeared distrait and answered Mary’s questions only very briefly. She waited until the parlourmaid had put the dessert on the table and left the room. Then she asked with deep concern:
‘Roger, whatever ails you? I’ve never known you like this. Are you in some trouble?’
Beginning to peel a peach, he replied, ‘I am not, but someone very dear to me is and, alas, it entails great unhappiness for both of us.’
‘For us? But why, and in what way?’
‘Because, my dearest, I’ll have to leave you for a while.’
Mary’s mouth dropped open and she exclaimed, ‘Leave me! Oh, no! You cannot mean it.’
‘I do. I hope not to be absent for more than a few weeks, but I have to go abroad again.’
‘Abroad!’ Mary gulped, then her eyes became angry. ‘Roger! When we sailed from Sweden, you swore to me that you would never accept another mission. Yet you must have. And we’ve been living for scarce a month the life I’ve dreamed of. Oh, how could you? How could you?’
‘ ’Tis not a mission. I mean, this is no matter of going to the Continent again as a secret agent. It is a personal affair. Young Charles St. Ermins has been taken prisoner.’
Mary lowered her eyes. ‘I am indeed sorry to hear that. But I do not see what you can do about it.’
‘Joseph Bonaparte, as King of Spain, is the titular commander of the army there so it was his troops that captured Charles. I have known the King well for many years. I have no doubt whatever that I can obtain from him an order for Charles’s release.’
Again Mary’s glance was angry. ‘As an officer he will be well treated, and in due course an exchange will be arranged for him. At best you could only spare him the inconvenience of a few additional weeks in captivity. And anyway, why should you go there on his account?’
‘Because, Mary, he is my son.’
‘Your son! You mean that he has no real right to the Earldom? That you fathered him upon Georgina?’
For a moment Roger was tempted to accept the conclusion to which she had jumped, as it would have strengthened his case for going to Charles’s assistance. But swiftly he realised the danger of acknowledging this tie with Georgina.
‘No, no,’ he shook his head. ‘I mean only that Charles is the nearest thing to a son I’ve ever had. As you know, he and Susan were brought up together by Georgina, so I have always looked on both of them as my children.’
The nearest thing to a sneer that Roger had ever seen on Mary’s face crossed it for a moment, then she snapped, ‘So you think of yourself as his father! A fine father I must say! Why, it will be near three years since you even saw the boy. And when you were last in England for any length of time, he was for most of it at Eton. Did you come face to face with him in a street tomorrow, I doubt me if you’d know him.’
Roger sighed. ‘Mary my love, what you say is true enough. Yet I feel this to be a duty I cannot shirk.’
‘You mean you learned this from Georgina and have given way to her pleading that you should desert me to go in search of the son she so dotes upon?’
‘Georgina does not enter into this.’
‘Oh, but she does! Your story to me that she has been your lifelong friend is true enough. But there is more to it than that. Do you suppose there are no malicious tongues among the society women with whom I have become acquainted during this past month? Several of them have been at pains to inform me that Georgina was your mistress for many years, and sweetly congratulated me on having supplanted her in your affections.’
‘That we were lovers when young I’ll not deny,’ Roger replied smoothly. ‘But that is a long time ago. Not one of those scandalmongering jades could provide a tittle of evidence that I’ve been aught to Georgina between her marriages but a frequent escort when in London.’
‘Yet you must have been with her at some time during the past twenty-four hours. How else could you have learnt that Charles is a prisoner?’
Roger had agreed with Georgina that, to make certain the news about Charles did not get to Susan’s ears and cause her great distress, she should tell no-one of her dream or vision in the crystal. So he was able to reply:
‘I learnt it last night from the Minister of War, who made one of our party. Charles’s capture was mentioned in a despatch he had received that morning from His Grace of Wellington. Knowing my connection with the boy, he told me of it, but he’ll not make it public, in order to spare Georgina the anxiety she would feel.’
The plausible lie temporarily stilled Mary’s suspicions, but she continued to argue that she had a bigger claim on him than Charles, and to plead with him to forgo his intention of going to Spain.
He had assumed she would be tearful but submissive, so her persistence, added to her unexpected suspicions about Georgina, annoyed him. Sorry as he was for her, and the more so from knowing that he was making her unhappy to undertake a journey that might very well prove futile, he was not the man to change his mind once he had made it up, let alone go back on his word to Georgina. At length, pushing back his chair, he said:
‘M’dear. When we first met in Lisbon I told you that, being near twice your age, I was too set in my habits to change them. I have never yet allowed a woman to interfere with any project I have set my mind upon. I can only say that since I love you very dearly, I will return to you as soon as possible.’
Thereupon Mary burst into tears. But he ignored her, left the table and walked from the room.
She did not join him in the library, and he spent the next few hours putting his affairs in order. By the time he had finished, he had decided that the only way to ensure against Mary making further trouble in future, when she disapproved of his arrangements, was to teach her a sharp lesson. So, when he went upstairs, instead of going to their bedroom he went to his dressing room and slept the night there.
He had hoped she would come to him and seek a reconciliation; but as she had not he was in no mind, when he went downstairs in the morning, to take the first step himself. She did not join him for breakfast, so when he had finished he sent for her maid, and said:
‘As Her Ladyship is still up in her room, I assume she is feeling indisposed. Be good enough to tell her that I shall shortly be leaving for London, but expect to return in time for dinner.’
To his surprise the girl faltered, ‘But Her Ladyship is not there, Sir. She got up early, ordered the coach and left an hour since. I … I thought you knew.’
With difficulty concealing the anger he felt at having to show ignorance of his wife’s plans, he asked, ‘Did she say where she was going, and what time she is likely to be back?’
‘No, Sir. But she had me pack a small night bag to take with her.’
Dismissing the girl with a nod, Roger poured himself another cup of coffee, then sat back to consider this unexpected development. Mary had clearly taken the bit between her teeth, but where the devil was she on her way to? She had no relatives with whom she could stay while endeavouring to bring him to heel, and no money of her own. He had started to make her a generous monthly allowance, but she could not have put aside out of the first instalment sufficient to keep herself for any length of time. During the past few weeks she had made a number of acquaintances, but was not yet intimate enough with any of them to ask them to put her up—except Droopy Ned. Yes, that was probably the answer. She had gone off to pour out her trouble to him.
Roger had meant to look in on Droopy that day and, as he had no secrets from this best of friends, tell him that he was going to Spain, and why. Now he decided against doing so, for he had no intention of letting Mary think he had come hot-foot after her.
Half an hour later he was on his way to London, and by mid-morning at the Admiralty, where he sent up his card to the First Sea Lord, an acquaintance of long standing, who was one of the comparatively few people who knew of his past activities as a secret agent.
After a short wait, the Admiral saw him and they talked for ten minutes or more about Roger’s experiences in Russia and America, then he said, ‘My Lord, I am anxious to get to Spain as soon as possible. I must not conceal it from you that this is on private business; but if you could help me I’d be deuced grateful.’
The old sailor smiled. ‘Having in mind your past services to the nation, Mr. Brook, we’d be mightily ungrateful if we couldn’t stretch a point for you. The frigate Pompey, Captain Durrant, will be sailing from Greenwich three days hence. You’re welcome to a passage aboard her, and I’ll notify her commander accordingly.’
Well pleased, Roger made his way to White’s Club. As he hung his beaver on a peg in the inner hall, it crossed his mind how manners and fashions had changed since he had first become a member. Then, all the hats had been tricornes and many edged with gold lace. Now, they were all toppers of various colours, some, like his own, rough-surfaced, others of smooth, shining silk.
At the far end of the billiard room he found Droopy, playing backgammon. He peered at Roger with his shortsighted eyes, then greeted him cheerfully, but said nothing of Mary. As soon as the game had ended, Roger drew him aside and asked if she was at Amesbury House.
‘No,’ replied Droopy in some surprise. ‘At least she was not there when I left an hour agone. Why, think you she might be?’
Over a decanter of Madeira, Roger told him what had occurred. After a moment’s thought, Droopy said, ‘’Tis plaguey hard upon you both, though she will be the greater sufferer. Loath as you are to go abroad again, at least you’ll be fully occupied, whereas poor Mary will have naught to do but wait and pray. Wherever she is gone, since she has little money she’ll not remain away from home for long; and, when she does return, you must not upbraid her for this display of temperament, for ’tis love for you that is the cause of it.’
‘You’re right, Ned. And it troubles me mightily to have to inflict this pain upon her. Yet how could I possibly leave Georgina without a single hope?’
‘In view of what you have always been to each other, you could not. To that I agree. Yet, if her vision be a true one, your hope of saving Charles is no better than that an angel should appear at the critical moment when the rope is put about his neck.’
‘Dam’me, I know it! And my wrath at being forced into undertaking a mission so likely to be foredoomed to failure is exceeded only by my sorrow that it seems the boy is fated to die. Although I’ve done little, other than buy him presents when a child and later teach him enough of sword play to make him a dangerous antagonist. I’ve loved him both as my sweet Georgina’s son and for himself.’
Droopy nodded. ‘I, too, will share Georgina’s grief and yours. Since he could toddle, I have ever been his “dear Uncle Ned”. Indeed, over the years I have seen much more of him than yourself, and he was fast becoming a man of whom we could all be proud.’
In due course, Roger accompanied Droopy back to Amesbury House, to make certain that Mary had not arrived there while they had been at White’s. Then Roger rode back to Richmond.
Half an hour after he reached home, he heard his coach drive up to the front door. Hurrying to it, he met Mary on the doorstep. Holding out both his hands to her, he said with a smile:
‘Mary, my love, wherever have you been? Your driving off without a word to me this morning, and taking a night bag with you caused me great concern.’
She returned his smile. ‘For that I’m sorry. But this was an occasion when I felt that I, for once, must undertake a mission.’
He frowned. ‘I trust it was successful … but I do not understand. And why did you take a night bag?’
‘Because I thought I might be asked to stay the night. And it was successful. You need not now go to Spain.’
‘What the devil are you talking about?’
Taking a letter from her reticule, she handed it to him. He saw Georgina’s crest on the envelope. With a sudden frown, he ripped it open and read:
‘Dear Roger,
‘Mary tells me that Charles has been taken prisoner and that, having learned of this, it is your intention to proceed to Spain in the hope of obtaining his release. Naturally, this news greatly pains me and I feel sure that it was realising how much it would do so when I heard it that prompted your generous intent. But though I’d derive great comfort from knowing that you were going to Charles’s assistance, I cannot allow it. I have no doubt that His Grace of Wellington will speedily arrange for his exchange; and the anxiety you would inflict on Mary by leaving her could not possibly be justified in order to spare the boy a few extra weeks of captivity.
‘Ever your loving friend,
‘Georgina.’
As he finished reading, Mary said, ‘I thought her to be at Stillwaters, so drove down there this morning, only to be told that she left for London the day before yesterday and …’
‘And her letter makes it obvious that when you found her at Kew House you told her about Charles.’
‘Of course. It was to do so that I sought her out.’
Roger had told Mary that the news of Charles’s capture was to be kept secret, in order to spare Georgina. Her letter showed that she had kept to their agreement to speak of it to no-one, so that Susan should not learn of it. Coldly, he said:
‘Did it not occur to you that telling Georgina would cause her great grief and anxiety?’
‘Well … yes,’ Mary faltered. ‘But to appeal to her was my only hope of preventing you from leaving me.’
Obviously Georgina had said nothing to Mary of her vision in the crystal, and to write that letter, foregoing the one possible chance of saving her son must have cost her dear. Yet it was typical of the generous and courageous spirit that Roger loved in her. Slowly he tore the letter across, again and again, let the pieces flutter to the ground, and said harshly:
‘Madame, your callous act has failed to achieve its purpose. I do not take orders from Georgina. For your information, in three days’ time I am sailing for Spain.’
Then he turned his back on Mary and strode into the house.
An hour later, her eyes red from weeping, she came down for dinner. As Roger did not appear, she thought he must have failed to hear the gong, so told the parlourmaid to sound it again. For the second time that day the girl showed surprise, then faltered:
‘Did you not know, m’lady? The master ordered his horse and half an hour since rode away.’
When Roger reached London he still felt very bitter about Mary; for he considered she had betrayed his trust and taken a step which, had his beloved Georgina not already known about Charles, would have caused her great grief. Within a few minutes of entering Kew House he had even greater reason for his anger. Georgina was in her boudoir and, as the door closed behind the footman who had shown him up to her, she said:
‘I take it you have had my letter?’
He nodded. ‘Yes; it is about that I am come.’
‘So I imagined. I hope you have given that wife of yours a beating for the damage she has done.’
‘A callous act, yes; but damage, no. You already knew about Charles.’
‘Certainly. But Susan did not, and she was with me when the little fool blurted out about your going to Spain, and the reason for it.’
‘What?’ Roger roared.
‘Yes; and it was for her sake we agreed to keep the matter secret. The poor child was distraught. Driven frantic. Naturally, she still knows nothing of my vision, but she imagines Charles to be in some noisome cell, living on meagre prison fare. I had a terrible hour with her. She is now in bed, sleeping I trust, for I gave her a potent draught.’
‘Hell’s bells! Mary told me naught of this. To show my disapproval of her conduct, I left the house without telling her I was riding up to London, but I had intended to return tonight. Now, devil take me, for this I’ll leave her to stew until I return from Spain.’
‘But, Roger, you had my letter. And what I said in it I meant. How could I refrain from taking pity on her? ’Tis true that she was thoughtless in showing no consideration for my feelings, but not wicked. You must go back, forgive her and endeavour to put this whole wretched business out of your mind.’
‘I’ll be damned if I will. When I had to tell her yestere’en that I was going abroad again, I was mightily unhappy for her. But after what she has done to Susan, I am so no longer. I sail from Greenwich three days hence. Till then I’ll stay with Droopy Ned.’
Georgina shook her head. ‘I’ve long since learned ’tis useless to argue with you. And, sorry as I am for her, ’twill comfort me greatly to know that you are doing what you can to save my boy. But if you wish to avoid further wrangles with your wife, you had best not stay with Droopy. ’Tis the first place she will go to look for you. I suggest you should stay here.’
‘I thank you, dear one, but I’ll not do that. You’re right that she will seek me at Droopy’s. Failing to find me there, she will next come to you. She already suspects that there is more than friendship between us, and I am greatly averse to strengthening that impression, for both your sake and hers. I have it, though. The perfect hide-out. Your studio.’
‘By all means. But I’ll not go out there with you. To disport ourselves as we have so oft done there one needs a carefree mind.’
Roger sighed. ‘Alas, you are right. Without it our bodies would take no real joy of one another.’
‘You will find your chamber robe and toilet things in their usual place, and I’ll send out a footman to valet you. Also, if you wish to lie low there, one of my under-chefs to cook your meals.’
‘I thank you, but I’ll not need the last, as I’ll eat out. I would, though, that tomorrow morning, dressed in plain clothes so that it will not be known that he is one of your people, the footman should take a coach out to Richmond with a letter to old Dan, telling him what I require packed for my voyage, then return with my valises.’
After a by no means cheerful supper with Georgina, Roger rode out to Kensington, stabled and fed his horse, then undressed. He had never slept alone in her big bed and, as he was about to get into it, he was suddenly conscious of a feeling that to do so would be a sacrilege against their abiding love, so he spent the night in the room that buxom Jane occupied when her mistress was staying there.
In the morning the footman arrived with a supply of food, and cooked breakfast for him, then set off for Richmond with the list of things that Roger wished Dan to pack. By midday he was at White’s and sent a note to Droopy, asking him to look in at the Club.
An hour later Droopy joined him. Georgina’s guess had been right. Mary had arrived at ten o’clock, and poured out her woes to Judith, who was still trying to comfort her when Droopy came downstairs. Both he and Judith had quite truthfully assured her that they had no idea where Roger was, and offered to put her up until she had news of him. She had been grateful, but declined, saying that she would next try Kew House and that, if Roger was not there, would go home and stay there as—not knowing that he had had his things collected that morning—she felt sure he would return to get them before leaving England.
When Droopy had been told of the latest developments, he shook his head. ‘I think you’re wrong, Roger, to treat her so harshly. ’Tis true that by her impetuosity she has caused young Susan needless suffering; but remember that she knows nothing of this threat to Charles’s life, only that he is a prisoner. It is natural that she should resent your leaving her, solely to save the boy from a few extra weeks’ captivity.’
‘How could I tell her of the vision, Ned? Had I done so, I would have had to admit to having been secretly with Georgina. That would have made them enemies for life, and might have wrecked our marriage for good. In any case, it would have meant that every time in the future that I spent a night away from her, there would have been a most awful rumpus; and that I will not have.’
‘I take your point. Nonetheless, ’tis clear that what she did was done on account of the great love she bears you. I pray you think on that.’
‘I will,’ Roger promised. But as soon as Droopy had left him to keep an appointment, his thoughts reverted to his poor young daughter and the misery Mary had so selfishly brought upon her.
On the two days that followed, he killed much of the time by taking long walks through parts of the metropolis he did not usually frequent. It was several years since he had done so, and he was sadly shocked by the change that had taken place. Many of the shops were closed and shuttered, their owners having gone bankrupt. Groups of men stood about on street corners, obviously out of work; their clothes were ragged and they looked half-starved. Even many of the more prosperous citizens lacked spring in their step and had gloomy expressions.
It brought home to him the fact that Napoleon’s Continental System was at last having its effect, just as the British blockade of the Continent was ruining the French. Both nations were utterly weary of the war. That England would never give in he was fully convinced, but the sight of so much suffering was heartbreaking. He could only pray that Austria would join the Coalition and, in the autumn, finally defeat the terrible Corsican egoist who for so many years had inflicted widespread misery on the peoples of a dozen nations.
On the morning of Sunday, the 25th, Roger had his valises loaded into a hired coach, lavishly tipped the footman who had looked after him, and drove to Kew House to say good-bye to Georgina, as had been arranged when he last saw her. To his amazement and intense annoyance, he was told that both Her Grace and Miss Brook were no longer there. Georgina had left a scribbled note for him, to the effect that an emergency had necessitated Susan and herself leaving for the country. She added that she would be constantly thinking of him and praying for his success and safe return.
Greatly disgruntled, he wondered what possible emergency could have caused her to let him leave England without a farewell meeting. As he got back into the coach and ordered the driver to take him to Amesbury House, it occurred to him that she might have received news that her old Duke had died, and felt it incumbent on her to set off for Newmarket immediately. If so, that would be all to the good as, on his return, she would be free to be with him more frequently. But they could not marry, for he now had Mary.
At the thought of Mary, he sighed. For the past few days he had determinedly put her out of his thoughts, but now he wondered if, by not returning to Richmond even to say good-bye, he had not punished her too severely. After all, Droopy had been right in that what she had done she had been driven to by love. Well, it was not too late to send her an affectionate message, and reassure her that it was not his intention to leave her permanently.
In the courtyard of Amesbury House, Droopy’s coach was waiting as, whenever possible, he saw Roger off. Roger had his luggage transferred to it, then went inside the house, to find Droopy waiting for him with a bottle of fine Bordeaux wine that had just been decanted.
When the two friends were half-way through it, Roger said:
‘About Mary, Ned. I did not take your advice, and now regret it. Please see her for me and tell her I’m sorry I pained her so; also that she has no need to worry about money. Yesterday, when I filled my money belt with gold at Hoare’s Bank, I transferred ample funds to her account for her to draw upon.’
Twenty minutes later, they were on their way to Greenwich. As the coach pulled up at the jetty off which the frigate Pompey lay, Roger noticed that another coach was standing there. When he got out, he saw to his delight that it was Georgina’s. At the same moment, followed by Susan, she emerged from it. His daughter ran forward and threw her arms round his neck. Having fondly embraced her, he took Georgina’s hand, kissed it and said with a smile:
‘You’ve played a pretty trick on me, and I suppose driving out to Greenwich could be termed going to the country. My departure, though, is hardly an emergency. But no matter. I am overjoyed to see you.’
She returned his smile. ‘Nothing would have deterred me from bidding you farewell. But this is an emergency. At least I thought it so, knowing you to be about to cut off your nose to spite your face.’
He gave her a puzzled look. ‘What mean you? I fail to understand.’
Droopy had led Susan aside; so, as Georgina took Roger’s arm and led him towards her coach, he guessed that his friend must be in on this little plot, whatever it might be. On reaching her coach, Georgina pulled open the door, stepped back and gave Roger a swift push which sent him sprawling on the step, with his head inside the coach.
The interior was in semi-darkness but, after a second, he realised that the female figure sitting back in the far corner was Mary. It struck him at once that the women had thought up this trick to stop him, at the last moment, from going to Spain.
Mary leaned forward and spoke in a trembling voice, ‘Roger, dear love, I am truly repentant for the unhappiness I caused Georgina and Susan. They have both forgiven me, and …’
‘And laid this trap in an effort to make me change my mind about leaving England,’ he cut in angrily.
She shook her head. ‘No, not that. We know that none of us could change your stubborn mind. Dear Georgina brought me here only that I might beg your forgiveness too, before you depart.’
‘Ah, that’s a very different matter,’ he exclaimed joyfully. ‘And I am truly glad she did so. But, Mary, it is I who should ask forgiveness. It was only out of love that you tried to stop me, and I should not have held it against you. I am ashamed now to have treated you so brutally these past few days. I should not be long in Spain. With luck I’ll be away only a few weeks, and on my return we will resume our happy life together.’
Three-quarters of an hour later, Droopy and the three ladies, all of whom he loved so dearly, waved him away from the jetty, and he went aboard Pompey.
Captain Durrant proved a pleasant, youngish man and, Pompey being his first command, he showed Roger over the ship with pride. Roger had realised that the advance of Wellington’s army during the present campaign would make it unnecessary to go all the way down to Lisbon and had expected to be landed at Corunna; but Captain Durrant told him that Bilbao had recently been liberated, and it was to that port they were bound, thus shortening Roger’s land journey across northern Spain by several days.
So far it had not been a particularly good summer, but the weather had improved during the past week, and it was a sunny afternoon when Pompey dropped down the Thames.
For the next few days the sky remained almost cloudless, and the sea calm, so for once Roger was not sick when crossing the Bay of Biscay. On the 29th, they entered Bilbao harbour and when he went ashore the heat was grilling. On enquiring of a passing British officer, he learned that General Graham had set up his headquarters in the castle, so he had himself driven there in a carrozza and sent up his name.
Graham, Sir Thomas Picton and General Hill were the Duke’s principal commanders, and Roger had met them all in Lisbon in the days when the British Army had been entrenched behind the lines of Torres Vedras, so the General received him as an old acquaintance.
Roger made no mention of Charles to him, but simply that he had to go to the Duke’s headquarters, and would be grateful for facilities to do so. Graham readily agreed to provide him with a horse, and an escort of Dragoons as a precaution against his being attacked by French deserters, hundreds of whom were hiding in the mountains. He then offered Roger accommodation in the castle for the night, and said he would look forward to seeing him at dinner.
Over the meal Roger learnt from Graham and his Staff officers the events that had led up to Wellington’s decisive victory five weeks earlier at Vittoria.
In the first place, two ill-judged decisions by Napoleon had helped to make it possible. Encouraged by the successes of their compatriots in other parts of Spain the guerrillas in Biscay, Navarre and Aragon had greatly increased their numbers and redoubled their efforts. Under their Chief, Mina, they became such a serious threat to the French army’s line of communications that the Emperor had allotted forty thousand men, under the command of General Clausel—who had brilliantly saved Marshal Marmont’s army from total destruction after he had been seriously wounded at Salamanca—to clear northern Spain of these great bands of fanatical patriots. This had resulted in weakening the main army of King Joseph to a point which, at last, gave Wellington superiority in numbers.
Napoleon’s other blunder had been to recall the Duke’s most efficient opponent, Marshal Soult, leaving as the King’s senior adviser the elderly and ailing Marshal Jourdan—whose sole claim to fame was a General of the Revolution at the Battle of Fleurus where the enemy, when attacking up a hill and being met by a heavy cannonade, had panicked.
But it was the Duke’s clever strategy that had been the main cause of this outstanding victory. He had led the French to believe that Braganza and not Ciudad Rodrigo was his base and that he meant to attempt to outflank their left wing, whereas he had pushed Graham’s corps up along the coast on their right. Owing to the country there being very mountainous, Jourdan had thought such a move unlikely and detailed only light forces to hold it. Time after time they had been pushed back, necessitating withdrawals by the outflanked main army. The British had advanced five hundred miles in six weeks, until Jourdan had felt compelled to make a stand on the Zadorra river.
Marshal Suchet, who commanded the other main army in Spain, could not come to Jourdan’s assistance as he had all he could do to hold down Catalonia and prevent the advance of a British force under General Sir John Murray that had landed, in Valencia, from Sicily; neither could General Clausel, as the King had recalled him from the north too late.
As the battle was joined, Graham had again driven back the French right and succeeded in cutting off their retreat by the great highway leading to San Sebastian and Bayonne. Meanwhile, Picton and Hill had forced the French centre and left to fall back on the Zadorra and the town of Vittoria. Once the French were broken they had no way of escape except through the town, then along a narrow, mountainous road that led to Pamplona. Under the bombardment of the British guns, the town had become a shambles and the retreat a rout of men running for their lives, pursued by Hussars and Dragoons.
The French were forced to abandon everything. The whole equipment of their army was captured, every single gun, hundreds of carriages laden with the loot of cities they had sacked, and one million pounds in their Paymasters’ chests. King Joseph fled on horseback, and when he reached Pamplona had only a single gold piece in his pocket.
When the tale had been told, General Graham said to Roger, ‘But now tell us of the war in the north; for you must have much later news of that theatre than we have here.’
‘I’ve no idea, Sir, how up to date you are,’ Roger replied. ‘But so far neither side has reaped much advantage from this year’s campaign. Following Napoleon’s disaster in Russia, Prince Eugène was forced to fall back to the Elbe, but the French still had strong garrisons in all the big fortress towns of northern Germany. After the great Kutuzov died in March, General Wittgenstein was given command of the Russian army, but he was later succeeded by Barclay de Tolly—ever a cautious man—so the best advantage was not taken of the situation.
‘By early May the Emperor arrived in Saxony with great reinforcements to take the field in person. At Lützen the allies should have gained a victory, but were foiled by Marshal Ney’s determined stand at Gross Gorschen. In the battle General Scharnhorst was killed; a great loss to the Prussians, but they still have Gneisenau and Blücher. I gather that the old man is a real tiger. He has never got over his men being driven from the field at Jena, and has sworn to have his revenge on Napoleon, or die whilst seeking it.
‘Later in the month, to cover Silesia, the Emperor crossed the Spree and there was another great battle at Bautzen, which again ended in a stalemate. After it the French succeeded in raising the siege of Breslau, while the Emperor retired on Dresden.
‘It was shortly afterwards that he made, to my mind, a great mistake. The allies had failed in their attempts to induce the Saxons and the Danes to come over to their side, and both the Prussians and the Russians were tired and downhearted. Had Napoleon realised that, one more battle might have finished them. But he evidently believed the forces arrayed against him to be much more formidable than they actually were, so he sent Caulaincourt to the Czar Alexander to propose an armistice. The Austrians acted as mediators and it was agreed that hostilities should cease from June 4th to July 20th, and just before I left England I learned that the armistice had been extended for a further month.
‘There can be no doubt that Napoleon’s object was to gain time for further reinforcements from Spain and Italy and fresh levies from France to join him and give him superiority in numbers. But things may well go the other way. It gives the allies, too, time to regroup and increase their forces. Prince Bernadotte has landed in Stralsand with a Swedish army that has not yet been in action, and he is an extremely able General. Last, but not least, the Austrians have not forgotten that Napoleon has twice occupied Vienna, and has robbed them of many provinces. They are still sitting on the fence; but as their price for remaining neutral they are demanding the return of Illyria, the restoration to Prussia of her stolen territories and many other concessions. To submit to such humiliation I judge to be contrary to the Corsican’s nature. And, if the Austrians do come in against him, ’tis my belief that his goose will be cooked.’
On the following morning Roger set out for Wellington’s headquarters, and he reached them two afternoons later. The French armies of both King Joseph and General Clausel had been driven across the Pyrenees, but as General Graham had told Roger, it was not the Duke’s intention to follow them until he had captured two important fortresses: Pamplona and San Sebastian, both still strongly garrisoned by the French.
Roger had first met Wellington when he was a Colonel in India, but more recently he had brought him valuable information about the enemy’s intentions in Portugal and Spain; so when, after a brief wait, an adjutant led Roger from the blazing sunshine into the cool shade of the Duke’s marquee, he received a pleasant welcome.
When he had congratulated the great commander on having just received his Field Marshal’s baton in recognition of his brilliant victory at Vittoria, the Duke said:
‘Sit down, Mr. Brook, and tell me what brings you here.’ Then, being one of the very limited number of people who knew of Roger’s second identity as one of Napoleon’s A.D.C.s, he added with a smile, ‘I hope it is to tell me that you again mean to present yourself at the enemy’s headquarters and bring me back all you can learn about his latest plans.’
Roger returned his smile. ‘Indeed, Your Grace, I do intend to go there, if you can provide me with the uniform of a dead French officer—preferably a Colonel. And you may be sure that I will do my utmost to return with information useful to you. But it was not that which brought me here. A young officer very dear to me was taken prisoner by the French only a short time ago. I know King Joseph well, and have little doubt that at my request he will release the prisoner on condition that, on rejoining your army, he should be sent to England, so that he is of no further value to you.’
The condition was not an unreasonable one, and Roger had thought of including it in his request because, if Charles could be got away from Spain, there would be no likelihood of his being captured a second time and Georgina’s vision coming true.
‘There will be no difficulty in getting a suitable uniform for you,’ the Duke replied. ‘There are hundreds of wounded in the hospitals. But who, may I ask, is this young man whom you are so anxious to relieve of the tedium of captivity?’
‘’Tis the son of my greatest friend, a lady whom you must have met when in London. She is now the Duchess of Kew, but was formerly the Countess of St. Ermins. It is her boy, the young Earl.’
The Duke ran a finger down his high-bridged nose, then shook his handsome head. ‘I am much distressed by what I have to tell you, Mr. Brook. Soon after the Earl arrived at my headquarters, on learning that he spoke fluent German, I attached him to the Duke of Brunswick’s staff. When it became known here that Prussia had declared war on France, Brunswick naturally wished to take his German Legion back to fight on their own soil. His request was granted, and they were shipped to Germany. St. Ermins had formed a strong attachment to the Duke, and I allowed him to go with them. I fear you have had your journey to Spain for nothing. He must be a prisoner somewhere in Saxony or Silesia.’