The Launching of Roger Brook (76 page)

‘How do you plan to take him?’ inquired Roger, thrusting his head out of the window. But this time he had no need to be apprehensive.

‘We’ll lie in wait for him in front of the house next to the Embassy,’ Droopy said, pulling him back by the skirt of his coat. ‘I’ll send two of my men round to the back entrance lest, perchance, he elects to attempt getting in that way. Should he do so one of them can hold him covered with a pistol while t’other comes round to fetch us. From your description of his figure and dress ’tis impossible that they should fail to recognise him. Henry and Thomas, here, shall take the back of the house while James and John remain on the boot to render us assistance should we need it. I will give all of them their instructions; since you must not show
yourself, lest he recognise you, even from a distance, and gallop off once more.’

‘’Tis well planned,’ Roger agreed. ‘But he’ll not recognise me, for I’ve never been face to face with the fellow, except in the dark.’

‘Of that, you cannot be certain,’ Droopy remarked shrewdly. ‘In any event, ’tis wisest that you should remain in a corner of the coach and not emerge until I give the word.’

The dispositions were soon made, and they settled down to wait. Excited and overwrought as he was, Roger soon found his head nodding and, after sitting still for ten minutes, he was sound asleep.

Over an hour and a half elapsed, and when one of the footmen rapped sharply on the roof of the coach Roger did not hear him. Droopy peered out of the window and watched a thin, lanky figure come riding up the street. He waited patiently until the man had dismounted and stood in the road some ten paces away. Then he shook Roger awake, thrust a pistol into his hand and, levelling his own, sprang out of the coach.

At the sound the horseman turned, started, and made a move as though to dash for the doorway of the Embassy; but he knew that it was too far off for him to reach it. He had seen instantly that he was covered by the two footmen on the boot of the coach as well as by Droopy, and he heard the latter shout in French:

‘Stand! In the King’s name! One move and I shoot to kill!’

Shaking the sleep from his eyes, Roger sprang into the road beside Droopy, and found himself staring into the pale, corpse-like face of Joseph Fouché.

‘How positively extraordinary that I should have clean forgot all about that man,’ said Roger, some quarter of an hour later, as the coach rumbled south towards Downing Street. That strange, colourless personality of his had left no impression on my mind; yet when I was searching my memory last night I should have recalled him, seeing that he is the only man in all France to whom I gave not only my father’s name and my own but also the place where lay my home. ’Tis amazing too, that he should have carried them in his memory for close on four years.’

‘Nay, ’tis not so amazing in view of what he said,’ Droopy Ned replied in his careless drawl. ‘It seems he prides himself on his astuteness as an amateur in detection, and a fine memory is an essential requisite for that. The name, too, of a foreign Admiral would be apt to stick in any man’s mind more readily than that of one of his own countrymen. ’Tis little wonder that on seeing the notice about you on the docks at St. Malo he recalled you, and decided to gamble the price of a return fare on the packet to Southampton against the earning of so handsome a reward.’

Roger nodded. ‘Yes, the five hundred
louis
offered for the letter would mean a lot to a poor school teacher, and as his pupils have not yet assembled for the autumn session, he no doubt felt that even if the venture failed ’twould prove a pleasant diversion before returning to his dreary work. I wonder though that a man so fond of intrigue does not take up something else.’

‘He will. Believe me, Roger, that pale, sickly-looking fellow had prodigious strength of character concealed beneath his corpse-like countenance. I’ll swear to that, or I’m no judge of men. ’Tis the very colourlessness of his personality that will make him both powerful and dangerous. Did’st notice that he would not look us in the eye. That was not shame, nor fright, nor modesty. ’Twas because he was determined to hide from us the ambition that consumes him inwardly and his fury at our having thwarted him.’

‘Yet he spoke me fair enough. An apology was the last thing I expected; but he vowed that he’d meant me no harm personally and was tempted to the venture only on account of the reward.’

‘And, like a softy, you repaid him royally for it,’ laughed Droopy. ‘Instead of clapping him in jug for the assault upon you, and for stealing your father’s horse, you let him go. Yet should you ever meet Monsieur Joseph Fouché again I vow your generosity will avail you nothing. That man would strangle his own mother, and crave her pardon while accomplishing the act from a fixed conviction that a soft answer ever turneth away wrath.’

‘Ah, well!’ Roger shrugged. ‘We have the document intact. ’Tis that alone that matters.’

Yet he had made a terrible enemy, and in later years was often to recall Droopy’s shrewd judgment; since Joseph Fouché, his pale hands dripping with the blood he had shed during the Terror, was to emerge from it as the dreaded Chief of the Secret Police under the Consulate; and, having served and betrayed many masters, was to become in due course millionaire, Minister and Duke of Otranto, the most unscrupulous, hated and feared of all Napoleon’s servants.

. . . . .

On their arriving at No. 10, Downing Street, a secretary confirmed that Mr. Pitt had agreed to the Marquess of Amesbury’s request that he would receive Lord Edward at noon; but they were a little early for the appointment, and were taken through to wait in the back portion of the long, narrow hall. Then, presently, the secretary led them up to the front room on the first floor, which Mr. Pitt used as his office.

Droopy introduced Roger, who pleaded his overnight journey as excuse for appearing in such a dirty and dishevelled condition and, while doing so, took swift stock of the remarkable man to whom at the age of twenty-four King George III had entrusted the destinies of Britain.

He was taller than Roger had expected, and dressed in a high-collared coat the top button only of which was fastened, so that the filmy lace of his shirt showed above and below it. His fair hair was brushed back from his high forehead, his mouth was sensitive and his almond-shaped
eyes were grave; his long oval face already showed the cares of office and his manner seemed a little awkward. On the table in front of him stood a decanter of port and some glasses, from one of which he was already drinking. With shy abruptness he invited them to join him, and, when they had poured two glasses, asked their business.

Without a word Roger produced the letter and laid it before him.

Having read it the Prime Minister said: ‘I like the directness of your methods, Mr. Brook. How did you come by this, and what do you know concerning its contents? Tell me everything you can. In a matter of such gravity my time is yours.’

Roger then told his tale and, afterwards, spent a further half-hour answering a series of shrewd questions fired at him by Mr. Pitt, who was now pacing restlessly about the room holding his glass in one hand and swinging the decanter in the other.

At length he returned to his chair and said with a smile: ‘How old are you, Mr. Brook?’

‘I shall be twenty in January, Sir.’

Mr. Pitt nodded. ‘That is but a little more than a year younger than I was when I first created some stir in Parliament. I mention this so you may know that I am not one who considers that good counsel can come only from old age, and that I shall give a certain weight to your opinion. What would you do were you in my place?’

Roger did not hesitate, but accepted the honour done him as he was meant to do. He said firmly: ‘I see only one thing for it, Sir. If you wish to avert a war that may well prove disastrous to Britain later, you must risk one now. ’Tis my conviction that if challenged at the present juncture the French will not dare to fight; but, if they are once allowed to gain control of the Dutch ports and the wealth of the United Provinces, ‘twill be a very different matter.’

‘Your opinion marches with my own, Mr. Brook,’ the Prime Minister declared. ‘I am not altogether uninformed regarding the state of affairs in the United Provinces, and they have given me considerable concern for some time. Of this devilish French plot, of which you have brought us such timely warning, I confess I was in complete ignorance. Yet I now see many pointers to it, of which I have hitherto failed to recognise the significance. Sir James Harris, our
Minister at The Hague, has twice returned to London for special consultations with the Cabinet, and he has repeatedly urged upon me the necessity for an alliance with Prussia to check the ambitious designs of the French in the Dutch Netherlands. Unfortunately, the old King of Prussia, who died last year, rejected my overtures to that end; but the new King, his nephew, seems more amenable.’

Mr. Pitt paused to swallow another swig of port, then went on: ‘King Frederick-William II is brother to the Stadtholder’s wife, and he most strongly resents the insolence of these Dutch Republicans to his sister and her husband. He has even mobilised an army of thirty thousand men under the Duke of Brunswick on the Dutch border in an attempt to overawe them without bloodshed; yet further he does not seem prepared to go. If, by sending him information of this French conspiracy, we could induce him to march in, half our battle would be already won. And ’tis that which I intend to do. I shall despatch a courier by fast ship tonight with letters to both Sir James and the Duke. The one, I know, will do his utmost to check the French designs; with regard to the other, we can only hope that he will realise the necessity for prompt action.’

To Roger’s surprise, and somewhat to his consternation, Droopy Ned suddenly said: ‘Permit me to propose, Sir, that Mr. Brook should be your messenger. He knows the ins and outs of this affair better than any other man, and might well turn the balance in our favour with His Grace of Brunswick.’

‘I thank you, Lord Edward, ’tis an admirable thought,’ replied the Prime Minister; then he swung round on Roger: ‘May I count upon you for this mission, Mr. Brook?’

Roger had passed through a week of trial that would have lasted most men a lifetime, but he did not hesitate in his reply: ‘I am His Majesty’s loyal servant, Sir; and yours.’

Mr. Pitt smiled. ‘’Twas well said, seeing the ordeals you have survived so recently, and you merit all your country’s gratitude.’

He helped himself to another glass of port, stood up and went on slowly: ‘Our course is set then. ’Tis monstrous hard that after having used my utmost ingenuity for near four years to preserve the peace of Europe, and in the meantime once again built up Britain’s prosperity, that I should now be called on to invite a war. Yet there is clearly no alternalive.
I will have despatches ready for you by eight o’clock this evening and make all arrangements for your journey. I pray to God that He may aid you to persuade the Prussians to act in this emergency; but, meanwhile, we will take our measures here. If Prussia acts not with us, England will act alone. I intend this day to give orders for the mobilisation of the British Fleet.’

. . . .

Late that evening Roger went aboard a frigate that was lying off Gravesend, and sailed in her on the night-tide. He found himself in the extraordinary position of not only carrying Mr. Pitt’s despatches but with letters of marque recommending him as a person whose opinion should be asked and given due weight. A little over twenty-four hours later he was in The Hague, and having the British Minister roused from his bed.

When Sir James Harris had read the despatches addressed to him he exclaimed: ‘Thank God that Mr. Pitt has at last decided to support the Stadtholder by force of arms. ’Tis the policy that I have been urging on him through our Foreign Secretary, my Lord Carmarthen, for these past two years.’

Roger found Sir James extremely well informed, immensely competent and, to him personally, kindness itself. They immediately took a great liking to one another and, within two hours of his arrival, the Minister asked him to accompany him to an early morning conference with Baron Goetz, with whose collaboration he had been striving to stave off the French domination of the United Provinces.

That same morning Roger left with Baron Gôetz in his travelling coach for Munster, the headquarters of the Duke of Brunswick’s army. There followed forty-eight hours of almost uninterrupted conferences at which the Duke consulted with his senior commanders and numerous German Princes who were on his staff. Roger played little part in these deliberations, but he found his German good enough to understand the gist of what was going on and, at times, was able to corroborate a point through an interpreter.

On the 9th of September the Duke acted and launched his army into the rebellious provinces. The free companies
came out, but France did not honour her promise to support them and withdrew the Comte de Maillebois, who was replaced by the Rhinegrave von Salms. He and his Dutch volunteers proved no match for the well-disciplined Prussian army trained by Frederick the Great, and the Dutch nobility declared for the Stadtholder.

On the 16th the French Government issued a declaration that it would not suffer the Constitution of the United Provinces to be violated, and for a few days it looked as if France was going to fight. But Roger had learned that at the beginning of the month both de Castries and de Ségur, refusing to serve under the Archbishop, had resigned; so he knew that M. de Rochambeau and the war party no longer had the direction of affairs, and his contention that the French were bluffing proved correct.

On the 20th, after an absence of two years, the Stadtholder entered The Hague with his friends in triumph and to the plaudits of the great mass of the common people. Roger participated in the rejoicings as Sir James’s guest. On the 28th he returned to London, his mission accomplished.

. . . .

After having signed the book at No. 10, he spent two hectic nights with Droopy Ned, then went down to Lymington. His parents could not make enough of him and his father insisted that he must accept the five hundred guineas reward for his capture of Joseph Fouché, so he was well in funds. The Admiral also was most averse to his seeking any fresh employment for at least a year.