11.

 

At the same time the lightning flash was illuminating the darkness of Blackheath and Nick Rathburn found himself gazing at the Comtesse Chagrin de l’Isle, the bronze ormulu clock on the mantelpiece of Madame Du Barry’s boudoir at the Hotel de Brissac, Rue de Crenelle in the Faubourg St. Germain, that most fashionable quarter of Paris, struck the quarter past the hour of ten. The sweet chimes reached the pretty ears of the gloriously fair woman lying in her bath in the gilt and mirrored bathroom, and she called to her femme de chambre, who at once appeared with the loose wrap in which to envelop the beautiful body.

A few minutes later the Du Barry, clothed in silken petticoats and over them a négligé of rich Brussels lace, faced the great mirror of her muslin-draped dressing-table and, aided by her woman, deftly applied the cosmetics from the delicate jars of porcelain and jewelled bottles before her; dark brown colouring for her wonderful eyebrows which contrasting so vividly with her magnificent fair hair, black for her thick eyelashes, enhancing her marvellous eyes shining like sapphires, carmine for the small, perfectly shaped mouth. Then blue to emphasize the veins in her white slender hands, and rose tinting for her fingernails. From the richly cut crystal bottles the sweet and heavy perfumes of carnation, rose, musk and amber spilled upon the warm air.

Here at the Hotel Brissac, home of Louis-Hercule, Due de Brissac, where she had permanent apartments, she was in her thirty-ninth year seeking to regain a semblance of the position she had lmown before the death of Louis le Bien-Aime two years before. The fifty-year-old Brissac, himself involved in machinations behind the scenes of Louis XVI’s and Marie Antoinette’s court, found her an apt pupil. Quickly she grasped that if France was to avenge her defeat a dozen years earlier by her traditional foe, England, she must support America, now desperately engaged in her War of Independence against Britain.

If only, went her lover’s argument, which she echoed, Louis could be persuaded to recognize America’s independence now. Now, while Burgoyne’s apparently overwhelming forces of redcoats were on all sides encountering unexpectedly determined onslaughts from the Americans bent on retaking Philadelphia. France would not only turn the balance in America’s favour, but bring Spain and Holland into the alliance. With such a powerful array against her England must be forced to admit defeat, and France would regain her former prestige and glory.

These thoughts were circling the Du Barry’s mind as presently, preceded by her youthful negro servant, Zamor, she made her way through the large house to Brissac’s private study, passing below the picture gallery crowded with Italian and Dutch masters and where hung that painting of herself her lover so much admired which, however, superstitious-minded as she was, she had never really cared for since that time Diderot, the author, swore he perceived a line round the neck separating the head from the body.

Across the library she followed the scuff of Zamor’s shoes echoing among the books all around stamped with the Due’s arms, Brissac being a great reader and very well informed on the novel ideas the new philosophers were expounding. Zamor opened the heavy study door and Brissac, tall and quietly elegant in a coat of pale lavender, a sapphire brooch gleaming among the folds of his cravat, came towards her at once. But it was the other figure in the tapestry-panelled room who tonight took the Du Barry’s immediate attention. The shortish, bald man with a fringe of white hair over the collar of his brown coat. ‘Monsieur Franklin,’ and she hurried to take his hands in hers, ‘you do Monsieur le Due and myself a great honour.’

‘On the contrary, Madame la Comtesse,’ was the response in French with a schoolboy’s accent, ‘it is I who am honoured, not to say charmed, to meet you.’

She kept her white, pretty fingers over his gnarled, gouty old hands. ‘To us you are the greatest American, if not the greatest man of the age.’ She glimpsed his long cloak and the fur hat cast upon a gilt and cream chair. ‘It is all the more to be deprecated we should have to receive you secretly like this at the back door.’

Across Benjamin Franklin’s features, which had relaxed into their familiar reposeful, Quakerish air, flickered a tiny smile. ‘It is as flattering to me as any other door.’

‘But since France must as yet appear neutral,’ Brissac said, ‘and we know you are surrounded by the English Ambassador’s spies, it required us to employ the greatest discretion.’

‘True, Lord Stormont appears to regard me with some suspicion,’ was the wry reply, ‘though as to the matter of his spies, their attentions persuade me, and doubtless Paris also, that my business in France is upon not unimportant grounds.’

‘We did not drop that mysterious message over your garden wall at Passy,’ the Du Barry said, ‘merely for you to hear us express our approval of your defiance of Britain. While Paris rings with the glorious news of your heroic attack against Burgoyne at Philadelphia, we seek to strike a blow on your behalf.’

Franklin, whose face had become shadowed at the mention of the battle raging, perhaps already won and lost, for the city he knew and loved so well, was regarding her now with a quizzical expression. ‘But, Madame la Comtesse, as Monsieur le Due has just reminded me, all the world knows France remains neutral.’

‘As yet,’ Brissac interposed significantly.

‘What all the world does not know’ — Madame Du Barry’s eyes flashed — ‘is that July the fourth was the signal for some of us to declare secret war against the British. We spoke just now of their spies in Paris. I also have my spies in London,’ and the American’s eyes widened, ‘whom I have entrusted with the task of acquiring information such as what British troops are en route for America, what equipment and military supplies are being shipped for use against American soldiers.’

‘You may regard our contribution to your cause as of relatively trivial consequence,’ Brissac remarked, ‘but it is the utmost we can offer against the day when we shall openly stand shoulder to shoulder with you.’

‘On the contrary,’ Benjamin Franklin answered warmly, ‘I am sorely in need of every scrap of intelligence as you may furnish me. I cannot sufficiently express my gratitude to you for all your energies to that end. As to the moment when we join forces, every day do I urge your foreign minister to conclude a speedy alliance with us, but still he hesitates to advise his monarch accordingly.’

‘Rest assured,’ Brissac told him, ‘France needs only the appropriate trumpet-call and she must be convinced it is her hour also to strike.’

‘Meanwhile,’ the Du Barry went on enthusiastically, ‘we carry the war surreptitiously to the enemy’s camp.’ She included Franklin and Brissac in a conspiratorial look. ‘Par exemple, a certain jeweller had agreed to journey to London, ostensibly upon business matters, to meet my agent already installed and bring back his despatches. At the last minute, however, Monsieur le Due himself chanced to observe a creature in the shadows across the street watching this house at the time of the jeweller’s visit for instructions.’ Brissac gave a confirmatory nod. ‘Caution dictated me to substitute in his place someone else less likely even than a respectable jeweller to be suspect.’ She was interrupted by a hurried knock on the door. A manservant, looking somewhat flustered, appeared.

‘A messenger for your guest, Monsieur le Due,’ he announced, low-voiced.

‘For Monsieur Franklin?’ Madame Du Barry glanced at Brissac questioningly, then at the American.

‘He describes himself as having just landed at Nantes and bearing important despatches from America,’ the manservant said. ‘He has driven here post-haste.’

A minute later a young man hurried into the room, overcoat thrown loosely about his shoulders, his hair awry, and travelweary in appearance. ‘I am come direct from your home at Passy, sir,’ he told Franklin. ‘I was informed you were not there, but after much insistence on my part and stressing the urgency of my business, your confidential servant conveyed to me where I should find you.’

Benjamin Franklin’s voice trembled as he asked: ‘What report bring you that is so pressing? Have our fortunes at Philadelphia failed?’

‘No, sir. Philadelphia is ours again,’ and as Franklin and the others uttered a great glad sigh and tension in the room slackened: ‘But I bear even greater news. General Burgoyne is defeated. He and his whole army are our prisoners.’

They stared at him, dumbfounded with disbelief — even the old sage was momentarily bereft of speech. Then, with a ringing cry: ‘America is saved,’ he fell upon the young man’s shoulders with joy.

Madame Du Barry turned to Brissac, her blue eyes ablaze with excitement: ‘And the hour has sounded for France.’