The Man who Killed the King Page 3

  In the meantime the Prime Minister was continuing, “However, I am confident in my ability to withstand the warmongers here in England. ’Tis those in France who fill me with more concern.”

  “Yet from what you tell me of M. de Talleyrand’s mission, it appears that the French Government would be well content with no more than our neutrality.”

  “That is true of the present Ministry,” Mr. Pitt frowned, “but, as I mentioned earlier, I have reason to believe that a fresh upheaval is about to occur in France. If so, it may disrupt all stable government; M. de Talleyrand and those who sent him may find themselves unseated, and a new set of masters might call a very different tune.

  “That brings me to your mission. Whatever may occur, one of its principles will be to exert such influence as you can on people of all shades of opinion, with a view to making it easier for me to prevent war breaking out between France and Britain. A second principle will be always to argue that, having brought their present monarch to heel, the French will do far better to keep him than to substitute any other for him.”

  “I had thought, sir, that since King Louis accepted the Constitution his position was reasonably secure,” Roger said with surprise, “and that this year he has enjoyed a popularity greater than at any time since ’89.”

  “That is the general assumption here, but my informants tell me that the Girondins, who are now the most powerful group in France, are not content with having shackled the King; they wish to bring about his death or removal, so that they can replace him with a constitutional monarch more to their own taste.”

  Roger’s eyes narrowed. “I smell that traitor, the Duc d’Orléans, behind this. From the very beginning he has conspired to have his cousin deposed, with the object of replacing him as Regent.”

  “That is a possibility; although d’Orléans has lost much credit in recent months. I gather the idea of a German prince now finds much more favour in the eyes of Madame Roland and her friends. Again, this has relevance to your mission, for it is a move that I am determined to thwart at any cost.”

  The Prime Minister paused for a moment, then went on earnestly, “In our desperate need after the late war I entered into an alliance with Prussia, but since then the European situation has undergone a great change. I sought Prussian friendship as a counterweight against the power of France. From the latter we now have little to fear, while the former shows signs of becoming far too powerful for my liking. I still wish to maintain good relations with the Prussians, but in secret everything possible must be done to curb their further aggrandisement. There are two eventualities which might prove disastrous to us: the first is that France should acquire a German puppet for her king, the second that King Louis should allow himself to be rescued from his people by the Prussians; for if that occurred and they reseated him firmly on his throne by force of arms, so weak a man could not escape becoming their cat’s-paw afterwards.”

  “Either would prove calamitous,” Roger agreed quickly. “Now that the Prussians are marching to join the Austrians on the Rhine, the Treaty they entered into at Berlin last February is taking concrete form. Should they succeed in imposing their will upon France we might later find the three most powerful nations in Europe combined against us.”

  “Precisely! However, the danger of Louis XVI being dethroned in favour of a German prince is one which you can do no more than possibly assist in combating, whereas I have hopes that you may succeed in averting the other danger altogether, by taking measures which would eliminate the risk of the King falling into German hands.”

  “There seems little likelihood of his doing so at present; the war has hardly started. It is a long way from the Rhine to Paris, and the French National forces would first have to be overcome.”

  “Not necessarily. The King must be aware of this new conspiracy that threatens his throne and life. He may at any time make a second attempt to escape with his Queen, then join his brothers in Coblenz. I desire you to see the Queen and do your utmost to dissuade them from such a step.”

  Roger pulled a wry face. “To win Marie Antoinette’s confidence again will be no easy matter. But that apart, ’tis plaguy unlikely she would heed such counsel, if she believes that in flight lies the only hope of preserving herself and her family.”

  “You go too fast. I did not say dissuade them from flight, but from throwing themselves into the arms of the Germans. I propose that you should urge upon her the idea of making for Brittany; and there is a good case for that. If King Louis seeks sanctuary with the foreign troops that are about to invade his kingdom he will be playing into the hands of his enemies. It seems beyond doubt that the great majority of the French people are still loyal to the Throne, and by such a move he would instantly sacrifice that last remaining card. On the other hand, if, by retiring to Brittany, he openly demonstrated his disapproval of the attempts of his brothers to overawe his subjects with foreign aid, all the best elements of the nation would rally to him. Of that I am convinced.”

  “ ’Tis an inspiration, sir,” nodded Roger appreciatively. “So shrewd a stroke would, I believe, both confound his enemies and restore him to favour with nine-tenths of his people.”

  The Prime Minister picked up the port decanter, refilled their glasses, and said in a kindlier tone than he had so far used during their interview, “That, then, is what I wish you to attempt, although I realise that the task of persuading anyone as pigheaded as Marie Antoinette to take sound advice may prove beyond any man’s powers. But nothing venture, nothing gain; touching which I have in mind a still more formidable undertaking which I will present to you only as a possibility.”

  Roger smiled. “Now that I am again committed I will not shrink from venturing anything in your service, sir; so pray tell me of it.”

  Mr. Pitt leant forward and answered with a low-voiced question, “What do you consider the prospects to be of detaching the Dauphin from the Queen and bringing him to England?”

  “I would be serving both you and myself ill, sir, did I pretend that I thought them anything but exceeding slender,” Roger replied with a shake of his head.

  “Yet I recall that in ’89 Marie Antoinette thought of sending him to her sister, the Queen of Naples, and it was to you she turned to undertake a secret mission for her to the Sovereigns of the Sicilies to enquire if they would receive the child there at the risk of war with France.”

  “True, and my mission was successful. But on my return the Queen informed me that the King had changed his mind and definitely decided not to be parted from his son; and that on further consideration she was herself convinced that he was right.”

  “If you can succeed in regaining her confidence, the King, being of such a vacillating nature, might change his mind once again.”

  “Their circumstances are very different now. I have heard it said that for a long time past the Queen has scarcely allowed the child to leave her side, and that she never appears in public without him, because his presence alone protects her from the violence of the mob. Moreover, I understand that since they were brought back to Paris after their abortive flight to Varennes, the whole Royal Family is far more closely guarded than was formerly the case.”

  “Both reports are true, and I agree that no higher sacrifice could be asked of the Queen than the surrender of the only shield which still gives her some protection. But the child would no longer be so necessary to her in that capacity if the Royal Family could be removed from Paris, and the problem of outwitting the Palace guard will arise in any case if they decide on an attempt to reach either Brittany or Coblenz. Should they already have settled on the latter course, and you find them unshakable in their determination to adopt it, this project then becomes above all else important. In that case—or should you have reason to believe that the King’s life is in imminent peril—you have my permission to stick at nothing which may enable you to remove the Dauphin from his parents.”

  “ ’Tis clear, sir, that you consider the possession of the Dauphin’s
person would be of great value to us.”

  “Of inestimable value. King Louis has proved such a weak and unstable monarch that there can be no security for us from war with France as long as he reigns. Should you succeed in persuading him to attempt a flight to Brittany and he reaches there in safety, it will be many months, if not years, before he can finally subdue his kingdom. If the Dauphin were here as our guest meanwhile, during such a lengthy period we should have ample opportunity to treat him with so much kindness that later his friendship for England would prove a most weighty asset in maintaining peace between the two nations. Should King Louis seek sanctuary with the Germans, in the person of the Dauphin we should possess a counterweight to German influence in France. The King would have lost all credit there, so with the French people behind us we might even force him to abdicate in favour of his son. Lastly, should King Louis and his Queen perish at the hands of their enemies, as I fear is only too likely to be the case, and the Dauphin were here, England would then be sheltering the new King of France.”

  Mr. Pitt sipped his port, set down his glass, and concluded in a clear, firm voice, “As I see it, this child must inevitably become the focus around which the future will take shape. If the Jacobins succeed in bringing about King Louis’s death, but can keep the boy, they will be able to rule through him by a Council of Regency. That would ensure them the support of by far the greater part of the French people, and so enable them to proceed with their programme of communism and atheism, which must result in ing France into a festering sore that may later destroy all Europe. If the Germans obtain the little Prince it will prove an evil day for Britain. If we can do so, the Red menace will have been robbed of its stalking-horse, and the thoughts of all decent people in France will turn with hope to this Island. Therefore, he who holds the Dauphin will hold the ace of trumps.”

  Again the Prime Minister leant forward, and his voice was tense. “Bring me the Dauphin, Mr. Brook, and I will pay you one hundred thousand pounds.”

  Introduction

  Dennis Wheatley was my grandfather. He only had one child, my father Anthony, from his first marriage to Nancy Robinson. Nancy was the youngest in a large family of ten Robinson children and she had a wonderful zest for life and a gaiety about her that I much admired as a boy brought up in the dull Seventies. Thinking about it now, I suspect that I was drawn to a young Ginny Hewett, a similarly bubbly character, and now my wife of 27 years, because she resembled Nancy in many ways.

  As grandparents, Dennis and Nancy were very different. Nancy’s visits would fill the house with laughter and mischievous gossip, while Dennis and his second wife Joan would descend like minor royalty, all children expected to behave. Each held court in their own way but Dennis was the famous one with the famous friends and the famous stories.

  There is something of the fantasist in every storyteller, and most novelists writing thrillers see themselves in their heroes. However, only a handful can claim to have been involved in actual daring-do. Dennis saw action both at the Front, in the First World War, and behind a desk in the Second. His involvement informed his writing and his stories, even those based on historical events, held a notable veracity that only the life-experienced novelist can obtain. I think it was this element that added the important plausibility to his writing. This appealed to his legions of readers who were in that middle ground of fiction, not looking for pure fantasy nor dry fact, but something exciting, extraordinary, possible and even probable.

  There were three key characters that Dennis created over the years: The Duc de Richleau, Gregory Sallust and Roger Brook. The first de Richleau stories were set in the years between the wars, when Dennis had started writing. Many of the Sallust stories were written in the early days of the Second World War, shortly before Dennis joined the Joint Planning Staff in Whitehall, and Brook was cast in the time of the French Revolution, a period that particularly fascinated him.

  He is probably always going to be associated with Black Magic first and foremost, and it’s true that he plugged it hard because sales were always good for those books. However, it’s important to remember that he only wrote eleven Black Magic novels out of more than sixty bestsellers, and readers were just as keen on his other stories. In fact, invariably when I meet people who ask if there is any connection, they tell me that they read ‘all his books’.

  Dennis had a full and eventful life, even by the standards of the era he grew up in. He was expelled from Dulwich College and sent to a floating navel run school, HMS Worcester. The conditions on this extraordinary ship were Dickensian. He survived it, and briefly enjoyed London at the pinnacle of the Empire before war was declared and the fun ended. That sort of fun would never be seen again.

  He went into business after the First World War, succeeded and failed, and stumbled into writing. It proved to be his calling. Immediate success opened up the opportunity to read and travel, fueling yet more stories and thrilling his growing band of followers.

  He had an extraordinary World War II, being one of the first people to be recruited into the select team which dreamed up the deception plans to cover some of the major events of the war such as Operation Torch, Operation Mincemeat and the D-Day landings. Here he became familiar with not only the people at the very top of the war effort, but also a young Commander Ian Fleming, who was later to write the James Bond novels. There are indeed those who have suggested that Gregory Sallust was one of James Bond’s precursors.

  The aftermath of the war saw Dennis grow in stature and fame. He settled in his beautiful Georgian house in Lymington surrounded by beautiful things. He knew how to live well, perhaps without regard for his health. He hated exercise, smoked, drank and wrote. Today he would have been bullied by wife and children and friends into giving up these habits and changing his lifestyle, but I’m not sure he would have given in. Maybe like me, he would simply find a quiet place.

  Dominic Wheatley, 2013

  CHAPTER I

  A BISHOP BRIEFS A SPY

  On Monday the 18th of June Roger landed at Le Havre. It was nine years since he had first set eyes on its busy port and tall, gabled houses, but the sights, sounds and smells of the French town instantly brought back to him a flood of memories. Round the corner from the Arsenal lay the brothel from which he had fled in horror, and only a few hundred yards along the quay was the spot where, sweating with fright, he had first drawn a sword in earnest, to defend himself against a drunken bravo.

  He now wore no sword; times—particularly in France—had changed. The nobility, who in the past alone had been legally entitled to wear swords, had been abolished, and for any well-dressed man now to vaunt that old insignia of rank was to invite immediate trouble; nevertheless, the tall, tasselled Malacca cane that Roger carried concealed a slender, deadly blade. Three-cornered hats, lace jabots and embroidered coats had also gone out of fashion; a hat the shape of an inverted sickle moon was perched far back at a rakish angle on his brown hair, a white linen stock encased his neck, and for the Channel crossing he had worn a long grey riding-coat with a heavy four-layered cape collar.

  Had he needed a reminder of those desperate days when as a youngster he had found himself stranded and penniless in Le Havre, the presence of his companion would have sufficed; it was Dan Izzard, once Lymington’s local smuggler, who had brought him over when he ran away from home. Dan then had the ill-luck to be captured before they got ashore and had spent six grim years chained to an oar in the French galleys. It was not until ’89 that Roger had succeeded in procuring his release through the clemency of Queen Marie Antoinette, and since his return to England Roger had taken him into his personal service. The years Dan had spent amongst Frenchmen had made him, like his master, bilingual; although when they were alone together he often spoke to Roger in the Hampshire dialect that he had used most of his life. Either of them could pass with ease as a Français, and Roger had brought Dan with him now because he felt that, should war between England and France break out and the British Embassy in Paris
consequently be closed, the ex-smuggler would prove invaluable as a trusty and resourceful messenger to carry secret reports back to London.

  Dan was over fifty, but a big burly fellow, and neither his age nor his long ordeal in the galleys had impaired his physique. His black beard, weather-beaten face and gold ear-rings still proclaimed him a born seaman, and many years as the captain of a lugger had taught him how to handle men. As Roger stood on the quay watching him now, he admired the brusque but jovial way in which his henchman hustled the surly French porters into collecting his baggage and summoning a carriage to take them to an inn.

  On their honeymoon Roger and Amanda had travelled to and from Italy by way of Brussels, the Rhine and Switzerland. In consequence, he had not been in France since May 1790, and even the short drive to the inn was sufficient to impress him with the fact that the state of the country must have sadly deteriorated during the two years since he had left it.

  After the great upheavals that had followed the calling of the States-General in May 1789, it had seemed that, having at last secured a parliament representative of the nation, France would settle down again. The storming of the Bastille by the mob in the July of that year had marked the end of the days of Louis XVI as an absolute monarch. For a week in August there had raged “The Great Fear”, during which apparently spontaneous risings had taken place from end to end of the country, innumerable châteaux had been burnt down, thousands of gentry had been murdered and many thousands more compelled to seek safety abroad. Then in October agitators had roused the mobs of Paris to march on Versailles; the King and his family, menaced and insulted for hours on end, had at last been forced by the rioters to accompany them back to the city and take up residence in the Palace of the Tuileries. It had been put about that their permanent presence in Paris would ensure its citizens ample supplies of bread, but the real intent behind the move had been to prevent any possibility of the monarch amassing an army in the provinces and using it to restore his authority in the rebellious capital.