The Magician's Wife (8 page)

The Emperor, turning his glance to Deniau, said, smilingly. ‘Ah, Colonel, there you are.’

‘Your Majesty, may I present Monsieur and Madame Lambert?’

Emmeline, sure that she would trip on her crinoline, made a hasty and awkward curtsy. Her husband bowed in almost oriental fashion.

‘That was indeed wonderful tonight,’ the Emperor told Lambert. ‘You, sir, are a necromancer. I believe I saw you perform a few years ago. Was it at Fontainebleau?’

‘Yes, Your Majesty. I had that honour.’

‘And this delightful lady is your wife? Oh, how I would like to sit now and talk to you, my dear. But the trouble with these evening
conversaziones
is that there is no real conversation. Too many people. Colonel, I believe we are to discuss our project tomorrow afternoon?’

‘That is correct, Your Majesty.’

‘In that case I must beg Madame Lambert to honour us with her presence. It will make the meeting something that I specially look forward to.’

As the Emperor said this Emmeline saw that the Empress and Princess Metternich had come up and that the Empress had heard what was said. She saw the Empress give her a cool appraising glance and then turn to her husband: ‘
Mon ami
, I think it is time for us to rejoin the company.’

The Emperor rose at once, bowed to Emmeline and took the Empress’s arm. They moved towards the doors which led to the
grande salle des fêtes
. At once, the chamberlains indicated that all of the guests in the
petit salon
should follow.

Later, when the imperial couple had retired and the guests were going upstairs to bed, Lambert, pausing at a landing, turned to her, put his hands on her shoulders and looked at her intently. ‘This was your evening,’ he said. ‘Not mine.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Don’t you know? The Emperor has an eye for you. And Deniau took you off this afternoon to Pierrefonds.
Picnic à deux
. Should I be jealous?’

She smiled and shook her head.

Chapter 4

‘Madame? Madame Lambert?’

Emmeline, walking in winter sunlight among banks of fuchsia in the château’s formal gardens, saw the old lady’s maid hurrying up the path.

‘What is it, Françoise?’

The old woman, out of breath, stammered, ‘Madame, the Marquis de Caux has sent word that you are to sit beside His Majesty at
déjeuner
. You must be ready at the doors of the
grande salle
as soon as Their Majesties enter the dining room. I think you should dress now, Madame.’

‘And my husband?’

‘The invitation is for you alone.’

At five minutes to eleven, Emmeline, waiting with the other guests outside the
grande salle
, saw the doors open to allow the imperial couple to enter the dining room. At that moment a gentleman who introduced himself as the Marquis de Caux came up to her, gave her his arm and led her down the long room to that part of the dining table where the Emperor and his party had just taken their seats. On His Majesty’s right was an empty chair. The Emperor did not rise, but smiled at her as she slipped into her place. Across the table the Empress nodded to Emmeline in a queenly manner. The Emperor then gestured to the
maître d’hôtel
and at once the first dishes were brought into the dining room. Behind the Emperor’s chair his personal
chasseur
took the dish from the hands of the
maître d’hôtel
and presented it to His Majesty who then helped himself, whereupon the
chasseur
handed the dish back to the
maître d’hôtel
as a signal that guests could now be served.

‘Do you know the game of croquet, my dear?’ the Emperor said, turning to Emmeline.

‘No, Your Majesty.’

‘I’m told it’s now the rage in London and I want to know what the fuss is about. As a matter of fact I’ve ordered a set from Paris. If they arrive before we leave Compiègne, you and I must learn this game together. Would that amuse you, my dear?’

‘Is it a card game, Your Majesty? I’m afraid I’m very stupid at cards.’

The Emperor laughed. ‘No, it’s an outdoor game. Hitting a ball with a mallet. Anyway, we’ll see. Tell me. Will you go to Africa with your husband? That is, if I can persuade him to help us. I want you on my side this afternoon. On my side and by my side.’

He smiled and put his hand on her arm. She felt herself flush as she looked at the Emperor’s hand, hairy, its long buffed fingernails gently tickling her bare flesh. This man, the son of Hortense de Beauharnais, the nephew of Bonaparte, his lecher’s eyes appraising her, his covetous, faintly mocking smile. And Africa? What
was
this about Africa?

‘And let us not forget the
chasse à courre
.’ His fingers tightened on her forearm. He leaned forward, his long waxed moustaches only inches from her face. ‘You will be my guest at the
curée
on Sunday evening.’

Curée
? She smiled at him vaguely. ‘What is that, Your Majesty?’

‘The finale of the stag hunt. Did you not know about it? Well, why should you? You are so young. How pretty you are. Indeed you are. So pretty.’

Having said this he pushed aside his plate which was promptly removed by his
chasseur
. A second dish was served at once and as the Emperor sampled it and turned to the lady on his left, an old gentleman on Emmeline’s right began to talk to her about a dance called the lancers. ‘I dread it,’ he said. ‘I am too old for it, but it is mandatory that if one is asked to take part one cannot refuse. Do you enjoy it, Madame? I may tell you that the Emperor is very fond of the lancers.’

It was at this point that Emmeline sensed the rule of conversation in high society. She did not have to understand what was being said to her, she had only to answer with the vaguest of assents, smiles and nods. It was conversation without purpose, a brief break in the quick and ruthless service of food, necessary to the fulfilment of the Emperor’s demand that lunch or dinner must never take more than an hour at table.

And so when, fifty minutes later, the Emperor stood up, his
chasseur
drawing the chair away from the table, lackeys at once stepped forward and put their hands on the back of the guests’ chairs, as a signal that all must rise. The chairs were drawn out and the procession followed the Emperor and Empress out to the
grande salle
. Emmeline, escorted by the Marquis de Caux, was suddenly accosted by her husband who bowed to the Marquis then took her arm and led her out on to the loggia.

‘What did he say to you?’

‘Who?’

‘The Emperor. I saw him talking to you. Did he say why he invited you?’

‘He wants me to go to Africa. With you. Henri, what’s this about? Why won’t you tell me?’

‘Because it’s confidential. You’ll know soon enough. What else did he say?’

‘He wants me to be on his side this afternoon, whatever that means.’ She saw that this pleased him.

‘So they really want me.’ He smiled. ‘What did he say about me?’

‘Nothing.’

‘By the way, I was watching him all through luncheon. He was laughing and smiling at you. I saw him put his hand on your arm. You know, of course, that he has the reputation of being a terrible roué. Did he . . .?’

‘Did he what?’

‘When he had his hand on your arm. What was he talking about?’

‘Croquet.’

‘Croquet?’

‘Yes. It’s a game. He wants us to learn it together.’

‘You and me?’

‘No. Louis Napoleon and me.’ She began to laugh. He looked at her as though she had slapped him.

‘Deniau will meet us at the foot of the main staircase at two o’clock sharp,’ he said. ‘Don’t be late.’

And walked away.

When Colonel Deniau came down the central staircase of the château that afternoon, Emmeline did not at first recognize this imposing figure in dress uniform with long cape and gold-leafed kepi. Previously the Colonel had worn civilian clothes like most of the other gentlemen attending the
série
. But now, in uniform, his dark good looks and military bearing were heightened to a point that seeing him approach she suddenly felt a quick, guilty excitement. Instinctively, she hurried towards him and as he bent to kiss her hand it seemed as if he, too, were caught up in her mood.

‘Where is your husband?’

‘He will arrive exactly three minutes before the time of our meeting,’ she said. ‘It is always like that.’

‘Just like the Emperor,’ Deniau said. ‘As you may have noticed,
he
divides his time into neat compartments. Of course, who can blame him? He has a great deal on his mind, these days.’

She did not know what could be on the Emperor’s mind. Croquet, perhaps? But she held her tongue.

Lambert appeared exactly as she had predicted and they all three went down a long corridor and through a door which led to an antechamber where two chamberlains waited. Precisely as a clock chimed the half-hour, three gentlemen emerged from the inner chamber, deep in whispered conversation. As these gentlemen went out, one of the chamberlains beckoned to Deniau, who turned to Emmeline. ‘After you, dear Madame.’ And so it was Emmeline who led the way into the Emperor’s study. The Emperor came to greet her, taking her hands in his and leading her solicitously to a chair on the right of his desk. He sat her down on this chair, then sat at his desk, close to her, waving absent-mindedly to Deniau and Lambert to seat themselves opposite. It was then that Emmeline saw that the Emperor seemed ill: he grimaced with pain as he bent forward to pick up a folder on his desk; his eyes were circled by dark shadows, his face was puffy and she realized, with shock, that his cheeks were rouged. Nevertheless, when he began to speak his voice was forceful and filled with conviction.

‘Gentlemen, we know why we are here today but perhaps Monsieur Lambert does not know how badly I need his help. I believe that some months ago Colonel Deniau asked you to assist us and that, for good reason, no doubt, you refused.’

‘If Your Majesty will excuse me,’ Lambert said. ‘I did not realize that the request had come from Your Majesty.’

‘But you were right, my dear fellow. The request did
not
come from me. I was unaware of the proposal at that time. Now let me explain why I see this as an important project. As all of France knows, our armies have given us a great victory in the Crimea. Generals MacMahon and Pelissier will be honoured by me in a special ceremony on my return to Paris next week. Our soldiers will also be decorated and rewarded. The Army has fought hard and well and because of that’ – he looked at Colonel Deniau – ‘I have informed our Governor-General in Algeria that I do not want us engaged in what I hope will be the final struggle for the conquest of that country until our troops have enjoyed a period of rest at home. Accordingly, I told him he must wait until spring before we commit our armies to this task. However, I can understand why Governor-General Randon is worried about this delay. He fears that a certain powerful and dangerous marabout could launch a holy war before then. You are the Arab expert, Colonel. What do you think?’

‘There
is
that risk, Your Majesty,’ Deniau said. ‘And if the final campaign is to be delayed until spring, all the more reason for us to try the gambit I have proposed.’

The Emperor turned to Emmeline. ‘This must be confusing for you, my dear. I don’t know how much you have been told.’

Emmeline, having learned her lesson at luncheon, smiled and nodded vaguely, whereupon the Emperor lit a long cigar and blew the match out with a whistling sound. ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘It will become clear soon enough. Now’ – he turned to Lambert – ‘I know that what you showed us the other evening is but a fraction of your talents. What we need to convince the Arabs is something even more spectacular, something which will both frighten and amaze them. Colonel Deniau tells me that you are our man. He says he has seen you demonstrate illusions so astonishing that even we might be tempted to believe you have supernatural powers.’ The Emperor laughed, puffed on his cigar and turning to Emmeline, winked at her like a wicked uncle. Then, leaning back in his chair, he said to Lambert, ‘Let me explain what I have in mind. I have great plans for Algeria. I see it as the meeting ground between East and West and the key to our empire’s economic expansion. Next year, in the spring, I will bring our armies to Africa, subdue the Kabylia region and complete our conquest of the entire country.’

The Emperor looked at Deniau. ‘Now, Colonel – tell us about the marabout.’

‘The marabout, Your Majesty? First let me explain that Muslim countries are very different from ours. There, marabouts or saints have a political and spiritual influence which is greater than the power of any ruler.’

The Emperor blew smoke. ‘An unfortunate situation for the sheikhs.’