It seemed to Roger the cruellest of all the misfortunes that, like a series of avalanches, had overwhelmed him during the past few weeks that Georgina should again be free and he himself tied to Mary. Yet at that moment he was even more distressed that his hope of seeing her that night was now completely dashed. Had the Archduke simply said that she was not coming to the ball, he had meant to go out to her at Schönbrunn. But she was no longer there. She was on her way back to England, where he dared not follow her. Yet from her alone could he draw the strength to face his uncertain future with new courage.
Pulling himself together, he bowed himself away from the Archduke, to find himself almost face to face with Selma. He pretended not to see her, and moved quickly across the room as though someone had beckoned to him. Greatly as he had enjoyed making love to her, no passionate embraces of a lovely lady could at this juncture have given him any comfort; only the sympathy that Georgina, owing to their life-long spiritual attachment, would have poured out to him.
Half an hour later he was back in his bedroom. There he drank the whole contents of a flask of good French cognac which he always kept by him, then flopped into bed. When he woke in the morning, he lay thinking for a while. The outcome of his cogitations was the decision that, while he remained in Vienna, he must allow no-one to learn of his misfortunes, but again conduct himself as he had formerly. That meant continuing to live extravagantly, but the great world had no use for the poverty-stricken, and his chances of obtaining some profitable employment lay in leading everyone to suppose that he was still the wealthy Lord Kildonan.
Later in the day he gave Castlereagh an account of the little he had learned of the political situation in England; but he felt so averse to mixing in company that, for the next week, he attended none of the parties to which he was invited, and it was not until January 4th that, at a ball given by the Czar, he saw Selma again.
She was dancing with a tall, fair-haired young man, and appeared to be greatly enjoying herself. As the music ceased and the young man led her from the floor, Roger intercepted her, bowed and said, ‘Your servant, Madame Thorwaldsen. Could you spare me a dance?’
Glancing at her programme, she replied, ‘I fear I am engaged for every one; but it is a long time since we have met and I would much like a word with you.’ Smiling first at Roger, then at her partner, she introduced the two men, then added, ‘As I have another dance later with Monsieur Kielland, I feel sure he will excuse me now.’
Having exchanged bows with young Monsieur Kielland, Roger led Selma away to a settee in a quiet corner. When they were seated, her pleased smile gave place to a frown and she demanded:
‘Are you not ashamed of the way in which you have treated me.’
As he answered her, he looked contrite. ‘Indeed I am. The only excuse I have to offer is that I had to go at such short notice to England, and have been greatly upset by family matters.’
‘But you were back by Christmas. I saw you at the Hofburg ball. To my utter amazement you cut me dead there. What possible excuse have you for that?’
‘None, except, as I have told you, my mind has been distraught by happenings in my family, and I felt utterly incapable of giving you the attention that you had a right to expect from me.’
‘Is this why I have not seen you at any entertainment during the past ten days?’
He nodded. ‘I could not bring myself to mingle with gay society. And I am still so preoccupied by my troubles that I fear that for some time to come I shall prove a most morbid companion.’
For a moment she was silent, then she asked, ‘Does this mean that you no longer wish to be my lover?’
As he looked at her he was very conscious of her fair loveliness, but he no longer felt any desire for her, and knew that he would be unable to enter with his usual gay lightheartedness on an affair with any other woman until he had, in some way, solved the problem of his own future. Sadly he said:
‘Selma, the gods indeed favoured me when they blessed me with your affection. But, alas, I am no longer worthy of it. My mind being in such an unsettled state, ’twould not be possible for me to renew with you the joys we experienced together up till a month or more ago.’
She sighed. ‘From your recent conduct I feared as much. And, sorry as I am about your troubles, I deeply regret that they should have brought an end to our affair.’ Then, behind her fan, she whispered, ‘I have never concealed my sensual nature from you, and you aroused in me a greater degree of passion than I have ever known before. In this past month I have suffered acutely from lack of satisfaction, and now I’ll have to appease my cravings elsewhere.’
‘The Archduke,’ he ventured hesitantly. ‘I take it that, after surprising us at the chalet, he ceased to seek your favours?’
‘Yes. He regards me now only coldly, which was to be expected. However, I have another string to my bow should I choose to use it.’
Roger raised a faint smile. ‘For your sake I am glad of that; although it does not in the least surprise me. There must be scores of attractive men in Vienna who would jump at the chance of becoming your lover.’
She returned his smile. ‘This one would, I feel sure, play that role most satisfactorily. It is young Juhani Kielland, with whom I was dancing just now. He was sent from Sweden as an attache to our mission shortly before you left Vienna. He at once became most attentive to me, and several times since has, when we have been alone together, expressed his passionate devotion. I find him charming, amusing and I am attracted to him physically. But I have refrained from giving him any encouragement up till now, because I hoped you would return to me. As he also lives in the house, we shall not be faced with the problem of finding some place outside, where we can meet in secret without endangering my reputation.’
‘How overjoyed he will be when he learns of his good fortune,’ Roger said, ‘whereas I at this time seem to be the victim of some awful curse.’
At that moment a Hungarian Hussar approached to claim Selma for the next dance. Roger rose, kissed her hand and bowed himself away. He was, at one and the same time, torn with regret at abandoning this beautiful, passionate and sweet-natured mistress, and relieved at having disembarrassed himself of an entanglement which would call for a light-hearted gaiety which he could no longer feel.
In the meantime the Foreign Ministers had been greatly worried, for matters at the Grand Council of the Congress were going from bad to worse. The Czar and Metternich were no longer on speaking terms, and the former was the cause of all their troubles.
He had persuaded himself that he alone had been responsible for the defeat of Napoleon—the greatest general Europe had produced since Julius Caesar—so now looked upon himself as another Alexander the Great. With the most powerful of all the Allied armies behind him, he claimed it as his right to dictate all the new boundaries that were to remake the map of Europe.
In vain his representative on the Council, Count Nesselrode, agreed concessions to his colleagues at their morning meetings. In violent outbursts Alexander repudiated them when the three monarchs met in the afternoons.
The major cause for dissension among the Powers was the future of Poland. Up to the middle of the past century Poland had been an enormous country, but her government was chaotic, her frontiers indefinable, and her neighbours aggressive. In the seventies, Russia, Prussia and Austria had all grabbed great areas of her territory; then, by the final partition of 1796, they divided all that remained of her between them. In 1807 a tiny, new Poland had been created by Napoleon, who named it the Duchy of Warsaw, and gave sovereignty over it, theoretically, to his ally, the King of Saxony. Shortly after the retreat from Moscow the French had been driven from the whole country, and the question now was how should it again be divided or, alternatively, re-created as an independent state.
The Czar’s dual mentality led him, for two reasons, to insist on Poland being given independence. In one aspect because, as ‘The Great Conqueror’, he intended to make it subservient to himself as a new reservoir of manpower for his army. From the other because, as ‘The Great Christian Liberator’, he intended to give the Polish people a greater degree of liberty than had been enjoyed by any other people on the Continent until the coming of the French Revolution.
His own nobility were far from happy about this last project, because they foresaw that if the serfs in Poland were freed by the Czar that could provoke endless trouble with their own serfs in Russia—who, in turn, would demand to be freed.
The serfs in Austria would also agitate for their freedom, which would have meant trouble for Metternich; but he was even more opposed to the Czar’s plan because it would have meant giving up Austrian Poland and, above all, increasing the might of Russia by an additional population of over ten million.
For Britain, the future of remote Poland seemed a comparatively minor matter, so Castlereagh held no very strong views, on it. He would naturally have liked to see Poland given a liberal constitution; but backed Metternich, because he was opposed to increasing the power of Russia.
The King of Prussia had no reason to be concerned about the question of serfdom, because he had already freed his serfs. But he was very much concerned about what he could get out of the deal. In those days it was generally accepted that, if one country gave up an area of territory, it must be compensated by receiving a territory of more or less equal value somewhere else. Frederick William was quite willing to give up Prussian Poland to his friend and patron the Czar, provided that he was given instead the Kingdom of Saxony, which Alexander had promised him he should have.
But the future of Saxony was another bone of contention.
Castlereagh favoured a strong Prussia as a counterpoise to a resurgent France and, as Austria was to be given compensation in Italy for ceding her Polish territories, he tried to persuade Metternich to let Prussia have Saxony. But Metternich showed determined opposition to the plan. For hundreds of years the Germanic Princes had looked to the Austrian Habsburg sovereigns for leadership, and he wanted no jumped-up Hohenzollern as a rival to his Emperor. Talleyrand, foreseeing the danger to all Europe that a powerful Prussia might become, worked tirelessly to save Frederick Augustus of Saxony from losing his kingdom, arguing stoutly that the paramount consideration of ‘legitimacy’ applied to Saxony just as much as it had to France.
During the first weeks of January, the wrangles in the Council became ever more acrimonious, and the Czar ever more impossible; at one moment possessed of a religious mysticism, declaring that his only ambition was to ensure peace, liberty and happiness to all the peoples of Europe, and the next threatening that if he was refused his just demands he would make war on Austria.
While their wrangles went on, the leading statesmen at the Congress were overworked and intensely worried, but the horde of visitors continued to enjoy a great variety of entertainments, at tremendous cost to the Austrian exchequer. There were in Vienna the heads of no fewer than two hundred and fifteen princely families. At the Hofburg the Emperor had staying with him fifteen of the principal royalties, each with a crowd of courtiers and servants in attendance. Forty tables were laid every evening for dinner, and in the stables one thousand four hundred horses had to be fed. The balls, banquets and receptions were unceasing. There were sleighing expeditions, amateur theatricals, ballet, concerts, tableaux vivants, shooting parties, tombolas, routs and skating competitions on the lakes in the parks. Candles by the ton burned away nightly to light the splendidly decorative throngs of noble idlers.
The tall, austere figure of Castlereagh, almost alone being dressed in plain civilian clothes, moved among the revellers at the evening assemblies. Yet such was his prestige as the representative of Britain that, at the Christmas ball, it was Lady Castlereagh whom the Emperor Francis had led out to open the first quadrille.
Occasionally, early in the morning, Roger rode with Castlereagh in the Prater, and it was on January 15th that they had a lengthy talk when riding alone together. The Foreign Minister confided in Roger that, so alarmed by the Czar’s threats had his opponents become that a secret treaty had been signed between Great Britain, Austria and France, binding the three Powers to support one another in the event of one of them being attacked, and each to put one hundred and fifty thousand men in the field.
He went on to say that, in view of the urgency of the matter, he had signed the agreement without waiting to consult the Cabinet, although he was aware that Parliament had passed a resolution to the effect that, however unsatisfactory the results of the Congress might prove, Britain would not again become involved in a Continental war. In consequence he now felt it imperative to return to London, to clarify the position; so he had arranged for the Duke of Wellington to leave Paris and replace him at the Congress.
As they were riding home, Castlereagh said, ‘When we talked in London of your accompanying me on this mission, I recall your mention that you were on good terms with the Czar. Is that still so?’
‘I’ve no reason to believe otherwise,’ Roger replied. ‘When I was taken prisoner by the Russians after the battle of Eylau, he saved my life, and on my confiding to him that I was in fact an Englishman supplying information about the French to London, he had me exchanged so that I could continue to assist the Allied cause. I was of some use to him at the Conference of Erfurt, and it was I who brought him together with Bernadotte. That resulted in the pact by which Sweden agreed not to attempt to regain Finland when Napoleon invaded Russia, and so secured Alexander’s left flank. Lastly, it was I who was sent just before the surrender of Paris to offer him Talleyrand’s mansion during the occupation; which invitation, you will recall, he accepted.’
‘Then your association with him has been a long and valuable one. Have you held any conversation with him during the Congress?’
‘No, my lord. But whenever we have met at one of the entertainments, he has always spoken to me very pleasantly.’
‘Then I pray you, ask an audience of him tomorrow. If he grants you one, any pretext for talking to him will serve. You may leak it to him if you wish about this new alliance. Do not say that it is already signed, but that you have reason to believe that Britain, Austria and France will combine against him should he endeavour to secure his demands by force of arms; and stress the dangers of starting a new war. His nobility are set against it, and they might well prevent it by assassinating him, as they did his father. A man as well known to him as you are could say things to him in private that we members of the Council could not. It may prove futile; but there is a chance that you might influence him to cease his sabre-rattling, so it is worth a try.’
Roger agreed to do what he could, and the following morning, through Nesselrode, secured an audience with His Imperial Majesty. The Czar extended his hand for Roger to kiss and, with a quirk of a smile, said:
‘So, as the English say, that “bad penny” Mr. Brook, turns up again. But, forgive us, you are now the Lord Kildonan, are you not? And what have you up your sleeve this time? Has that sly rogue, Talleyrand, sent you to offer us the use of his mansion again, when we once more lead our victorious armies across France to occupy Paris?’
‘Nay, Sire.’ Roger returned the smile. ‘I feel confident that so kind-hearted and enlightened a monarch as Your Imperial Majesty will not do that. God knows, the common people who have no say in the making of wars have suffered enough in the past twenty years, without having another war thrust upon them.’
‘Ah, the people!’ The tall, handsome Czar turned his eyes heavenward. ‘How right you are. ’Tis they who bear the brunt of war. No splendid uniforms or loot for them, but crushing taxes, their young men conscripted to die in foreign fields, burned homes, their women raped and their little treasures stolen. But God sent us to be their protector, to free them from tyranny, to give them a voice in how they should be governed, to lead them back from the atheism spread by the accursed Revolution to a true Christian way of life. Each morning when we read our Bible, we become more convinced where our duty lies, and of our great destiny as the Liberator.’
Roger bowed. ‘How it rejoices me, Sire, to hear you speak in such a vein. It puts my mind at rest on a matter I thought it my duty to inform you of, on account of your past graciousness to me. I have good reason to believe that Austria, France and Britain are plotting, not to wage war against Your Imperial Majesty, but to combine and put an army of half a million men in the field should you attack any one of them, as it has been rumoured you contemplate doing. My relief at knowing these rumours to be false … ’
Suddenly Alexander’s manner changed completely. His blue eyes flashing, he cried, ‘They are not false. Unless our just demands are met, Metternich shall rue the day he dared thwart us. And your friend, Talleyrand, too. Austria could not now raise a hundred thousand men, and France lies exhausted. They would be mad to oppose the combined might of Russia and Prussia. Austria has not a general worthy of the name. We had nearly to use a knout on that craven fellow, Schwarzenberg, before we could induce him last year to advance on Paris. Before the Prussian Generals Blücher, Gneisenau and von Bülow, he would go down like a ninepin. Ah, and even without them we could eat him up. Who but ourselves conquered the great Napoleon? Vienna would be ours in a matter of weeks, and Paris a month later.’
‘Sire, I beg you … ’ Roger pleaded, as Alexander paused for breath, then, ignoring him, continued his violent diatribe.
‘We see the hand of Talleyrand in this. In Paris, we thought his advice sound, and allowed him to persuade us to restore the Bourbons. And what thanks did we get? Dost know how we were treated when we visited that stupid mountain of flesh, Louis XVIII, in his château at Compiègne? We were led through a fine suite of rooms. They were occupied by that vain reactionary, the King’s brother, d’Artois. Through another fine suite. It was the Duc de Berry’s. Through yet a third, reserved for the gloomy, puritanical Duchess d’Angoulême. At length, beyond them all lay three miserable little rooms—for us! For us, can you believe it! For us, the Czar of all the Russias, who had put Louis back on his throne.’
Roger shook his head, as though shocked beyond belief. His face distorted by anger, Alexander raved on. ‘And dinner that evening! Naturally, we were seated next to him. Some ill-trained lout brought the first dish, then hesitated whether to first serve us or the King. Louis looked round, saw the fellow’s dilemma and piped up querulously in that squeaky voice of his, “Me first! Me first!” Any of our serfs would have had better manners.’
In silence Roger listened as the tirade continued:
‘And this after all we had done to save France from the greed of the Prussians! They would have despoiled her to the last silver fork. We insisted on terms of generosity to a fallen foe having no precedent. We made Louis grant them a liberal constitution, forewent any indemnity, even allowed them to retain the countless works of art they had stolen from other nations. But it will be different next time. Very different. We will make them give up their ill-gotten treasures. We will saddle them with a bill which will take them fifty years to pay. We will teach the French a lesson they will never forget.’
‘Sire, Sire,’ Roger pleaded. ‘I implore you not to allow there to be a next time. If only Your Imperial Majesty will be reasonable, I am confident that … ’
‘We are reasonable,’ came the haughty retort. ‘We ask only that Poland should be restored as an independent state. That entails Austria withdrawing and contenting herself with the restoration of her territories in the Tyrol, Illyria, Venezia, Lombardy and Tuscany. The King of Prussia has already agreed to give Warsaw up to us and withdraw to the Elbe; and we intend to insist on his being given Saxony as compensation. Now, you have our leave to withdraw. We thank you for informing us of this projected combination to challenge our supremacy should it come to war. But war we will make should it prove necessary.’
Deciding that it would be most unwise to suggest to Alexander that, rather than take up arms again, his own nobles might assassinate him, Roger bowed himself backwards out of the room.
On returning to the large house in the Minoritenplatz—to which Castlereagh had moved on finding his first choice of residence too small for the entertaining necessitated by his position—Roger described his abortive audience with the Czar to the Foreign Minister.
Having heard him, Castlereagh said gloomily, ‘I am not surprised at what you tell me. These past few weeks he has become impossible. Even his own people confess to having no idea which way he will jump. One moment he is the inspired Evangelist, vowed to bettering the lot of all Europe’s people; the next a mighty war lord prepared to drench its soil in blood again. But there is another matter on which, since no Englishman was closer to Napoleon than yourself, I would value your opinion. Think you he may attempt to escape from Elba?’
‘ ’Tis a question I hesitate to answer,’ Roger replied. ‘His mind is extraordinarily active, and he carries out his decisions with great speed. According to report, he has found much to occupy him in his tiny island kingdom. If that is true, and continues to be so, he may well be content to remain there. But should he become bored, there will then be danger of him planning some lightning stroke in the hope of reasserting himself. And Elba, being so near the mainland, should not be difficult to escape from.’
Castlereagh nodded. ‘That is true, and I now think it a mistake that he was sent there. When we discussed it, I favoured keeping him a prisoner in England, or possibly Gibraltar, though that would have been far from popular with our countrymen. When they learnt of the proposal, The Times wrote of it: No British possession should be polluted by such a wretch. He would be a disgrace to Botany Bay. Metternich, too, would have preferred to see him sent further afield, and suggested the Azores. Fouché proposed sending him to learn about democracy in the United States. The Prussians, of course, wanted to hang him, but the Czar favoured treating him with chivalry, and it was the Emperor of Austria who had the last word. Against Metternich’s advice, he insisted on his son-in-law’s being given a small kingdom. Sardinia and Corfu were talked of, but Elba finally decided upon.’
Shuffling through some papers on his desk, Castlereagh picked one up and went on, ‘I have here a report sent on to me from London. It is by Colonel Neil Campbell, who keeps a watch on Napoleon for us, and Lord John Russell, who visited the island. They drew it up on December 28th. In it they state that the Emperor was in good health and excellent spirits. That he is very well informed about affairs in France, and expressed the opinion that there will be a violent outbreak there, similar to the Revolution, in consequence of the humiliation of the French at having been robbed of their frontier on the Rhine, and of the feebleness of the Bourbons. He added that to recover their rights they should make war as soon as possible, and that it should not be difficult to drive the Dutch out of Belgium.’
Roger sighed. ‘Truly, that man is an appalling menace.’
‘He would be, were he free. Campbell and Russell warned our Cabinet that they believe him to be plotting some great move, and are of the opinion that he will attempt to land in Italy.’
‘I disagree, my lord. His only chance of powerful support lies in the old soldiers of his own army, whom he led so many times to victory, and who loathe the Bourbon fleur-de-lys. If he lands on the Continent at all, it will be in France.’
This brief discussion over, Roger took his leave. As he marched out into the anteroom, he came to a sudden halt. Seated there was a broad-chested, red-faced soldier in the uniform of a British Brigadier. His name was George Gunston. At that moment he glanced up. Recognition was mutual and instantaneous. They had been schoolboys at Sherborne together, and had hated each other ever since.
Gunston was a few years older than Roger, and in their schooldays had bullied him unmercifully. Over the years they had met on a number of occasions: in Martinique, India, Portugal and many times in England. These meetings had all resulted in violent quarrels. They had fought two duels and their hatred had been intensified by their relationships with three different women. In India Gunston’s tardiness in bringing up his troops had led to the death of lovely young Clarissa, then Roger’s mistress. Later he had attempted to rape Georgina. In the drunken brawl that had ensued, a sword-thrust by Roger, intended for Gunston, had killed Georgina’s husband. Roger had been tried for manslaughter, and spent several months in Guildford prison. Still later, in Lisbon, Gunston had deliberately led Roger to believe that Mary, who was his cousin, was easy game, when she was actually still a virgin. The consequences had been so painful that Roger had sworn that, when they next met, he would kill Gunston. And now they were again face to face.
With a slow smile, the Brigadier came to his feet and said, ‘Why, dam’me if ’tis not my old friend, Bookworm Brook.’
Roger glared at him. ‘The nickname you gave me at Sherborne is now a little stale. And I am not your friend. For that filthy trick you played me in Lisbon, had you not been lying in hospital, I would have sent you to the devil with a sword-thrust.’
A grin spread over Gunston’s face, stretching nearly to his reddish side-whiskers. ‘Instead, you delivered your thrust into little Mary, or so I guessed from your hasty departure for England and her woebegone appearance afterwards. As a pauper the poor girl had naught else than her virginity to offer a husband, and I’ll wager she screamed “Murder” when you robbed her of it.’
‘I’ll not deny that. But ’twas your vile lies to me which brought such grief upon her. You swore to me that her demure manner was no more than a mask for her passionate nature, that she had been tumbled by a dozen men. Ay, and that you had had her yourself.’
‘ ’Tis true enough that she was a passionate young piece. I dam’ne near had her, too. She fought me off only at the last moment. How fares she now?’
‘Her present state has no bearing on the past, and ’tis for that I mean to call you to account.’
‘Am I to take that as a challenge?’
‘You are. Where are you living in Vienna?’
‘No doubt Lord Castlereagh will offer me hospitality here for the next few days. I have just arrived, sent ahead for His Grace of Wellington to whose staff I have recently been attached, to find suitable quarters for him.’
‘God help us! The Duke must have gone out of his mind to take an oaf like yourself into his military family.’
‘Hard words break no bones, my lord.’
‘Nay, but a sword thrust through your big belly will cause you to squeal louder than would any fracture. And I mean to give you one.’
Gunston knew Roger to be a far better swordsman than he was, and had no intention of exposing himself in a duel. Shaking the mop of coarse red curls that grew low down on his forehead, he retorted:
‘Oh no, you won’t. Times have changed these past few years. The powers that be have become more than ever harsh on those who ignore the edict against duelling. To army officers it is strictly forbidden, and I’ve no mind to risk being cashiered for a chance to stick you in the gizzard.’
White to the lips, Roger roared, ‘Edicts be damned, you filthy coward! Do you refuse to meet me, I’ll take the first chance that offers to slap your fat face in public.’
Attracted by the sound of angry voices, Castlereagh had opened the door of his room, and stood there staring at them. After a moment he asked in a stern voice, ‘What goes on here? Did I hear you, Lord Kildonan, challenge Brigadier Gunston to a duel?’
‘You did, my lord,’ Roger replied promptly. “I have a long-standing matter to settle with this oaf, who has more than once disgraced the uniform he wears.’
‘Surely you know that duelling is most strictly forbidden?’
‘That did not prevent you, my lord, from settling a dispute with Mr. Canning with pistols one morning on Wimbledon Common.’
Castlereagh paused. ‘I admit it. But that was years ago. Since then the laws against duelling have been enforced much more rigorously. While you remain on my staff I strictly forbid you to fight Brigadier Gunston. Moreover, should you insult him in public, as you threatened, you will incur my utmost displeasure, and I’ll instantly dismiss you. Now you may go.’
Beckoning to Gunston to follow him into his sanctum, he turned away, leaving Roger standing there still white-faced and furious.
Upstairs in his room Roger gradually regained his calm and considered whether he should pursue his quarrel with George Gunston or, for the time being, let the matter rest. He was strongly beset by the inclination to force George into a duel, or cause him to be publicly branded as a coward, and here on the Continent the British laws against duelling did not apply, so he would have had nothing to fear from the authorities. But there was a special consideration that did, in his case. If he pursued his vendetta against George openly, Castlereagh would dismiss him. A month ago that would not have caused him great concern. But now things were very different. With his fortune gone, he was counting on. Castlereagh, after the Congress ended, to appoint him to a post in some embassy, which would at least provide him with a living. He dared not defy the Foreign Minister and forfeit his goodwill.
In consequence Roger decided to stifle his antagonism and eat out as long as Gunston remained a guest at the house in the Minoritenplatz and, as far as possible, avoid coming into contact with his bête noir. Fortunately he did not have to do so for long, since the accommodation for visitors was limited and, two days later, Gunston was moved out to an hotel. After that they saw each other only occasionally, at entertainments, and on such occasions kept well out of one another’s way.
On February 3rd Wellington arrived. He was received with great honour, even by the Czar, and everyone found his genial personality a pleasant change from the dour austerity of Castlereagh, who remained on for the better part of a fortnight to run in his successor.
Within a week of his arrival the Duke had taken over such matters as Roger was involved in, and on the evening of the 11th, Wellington said to him:
‘My lord, as you may be aware, under the Treaty of Paris, it was agreed that Napoleon was to receive two million francs a year from the French Government, to support himself in his kingdom of Elba, and other Bonapartes were to receive substantial lesser sums. So far the Bourbons have not paid out a single penny to any of them. It is a disgraceful neglect of an obligation freely entered into, and King Louis ought to be ashamed of himself. I should be grateful if you would see Talleyrand and raise the matter with him. Tell him that if his master continues this mean obduracy, it may affect badly French interests at the Congress.’
Accordingly, early next morning, in a scruffy old cloak that he kept for such occasions, Roger made his way through the garden of the Kaunitz Palace to the back entrance and was taken up by Talleyrand’s valet to his master’s bedroom.
When he had delivered the Duke’s protest which, without stigmatising the King of France, could not have been made openly, Talleyrand agreed that his Sovereign’s meanness was despicable, and said he would raise the matter in his next despatch.
Opposite the garden of the palace, and partly overlooking it, stood a big house. Just as Roger came out of the garden gate, he saw a figure emerge from a side entrance of the mansion. Next moment he realised that it was Gunston. Head down, he quickly turned away, and walked off at a smart pace, but he feared that Gunston had recognised him.
Gunston’s swagger and muscular limbs held an attraction for certain types of women, and he was a born womaniser, so Roger had little doubt about why he happened to be about at that early hour of the morning. It was a pretty safe bet that he had spent the night with the lady of the mansion or, equally probable, with some pretty serving wench who lived there.
Owing to the Duke’s numerous engagements that day, it was not until evening that Roger had a chance to report to him. When he had done so, Wellington said, ‘I regret to have to tell you that you were seen leaving the Kaunitz Palace early this morning. It was Brigadier Gunston who saw you, and he hastened here to tell me of it.’
Roger frowned. ‘I have known him for many years, and feared that he had recognised me. He is a blackguard of the first order and, if I may make so bold, it surprises me that Your Grace should have taken him into your military family.’
‘I did not, although he has a fine record as a cavalry officer. He was sent here direct from London by my lords and masters at the Horse Guards, to secure suitable accommodation for me. But that is beside the point. The devil of it is that he jumped to the conclusion that you are a spy in the pay of Talleyrand.’
‘Dam’me, Sir! That will make things mighty awkward. He is my personal enemy. By now he will have seized on the chance to blazon it all over Vienna that I am a traitor. There’s only one thing for it. I must repudiate the charge, call him out and kill him.’
Wellington shook his head. ‘Nay, that would be no remedy. To kill a man does not prove him to be a liar. Besides, I could not permit it. You must be aware of the anti-duelling laws and, on your return to England, you would find yourself in prison for having forced a duel on a British officer.’
‘But, Your Grace, we cannot ignore the accusation. I’ll not submit to continuing on here with everyone in the city believing me to have sold information to a foreign Power. Neither can you afford to have it thought that, by taking no action on Gunston’s report, you have allowed me to pull the wool over your eyes.’
‘I agree on both counts. Later, I will take some step to clear your reputation. But to admit that you acted for me as a secret agent is unthinkable. It would deprive you of your future usefulness. For the time being, much to my regret, I must dispense with your services here, and have it put about that you are leaving Vienna for personal reasons after having voluntarily resigned.’
‘I can only bow to Your Grace’s decision,’ replied Roger unhappily.
The Duke gave his high-pitched laugh. ‘Look not so miserable, my lord. I have already thought of a most interesting employment for you.’
Roger brightened. ‘If that is so, Your Grace, I am all eagerness to hear it.’
‘This morning I sent you to Talleyrand to protest at King Louis’s having neglected to pay the monies due to the Bonapartes. This must cause Napoleon considerable umbrage. His mental attitude has now become of great importance to us. As you know, the Czar is threatening to bring about a new war against Austria. Should he do so, all Europe will again go up in flames. Britain and France are pledged to support Austria. By that, of course, I mean Bourbon France. But what if Napoleon suddenly returned, and the French rallied to him? In such circumstances he might offer to renew the alliance he made with the Czar at Tilsit. What then? Austria annihilated, and Britain once more involved in a war to which one can see no end, against a combination of Continental Powers. You will see, then, how imperative it is that we should have some idea of which course Napoleon would be likely to adopt. Is he tired of war and content to remain at ease in his island kingdom? Or does he still secretly nurture the ambition to seize on any chance that might again make him arbiter of Europe? As Colonel Comte de Breuc, you were, my lord, for many years in his confidence. I wish you to go to Elba and probe his mind.’