Flashman's Escape (28 page)

I think I might have pinched myself at this point to check I was not dreaming. “You mean you are a royalist?” I gasped, astounded that she could be the complete antithesis of what I had expected.

“Of course not,” she snapped. “I am a republican. We want to return France to the ideals and principles of the republic, the people voting for their government.”

“But it can’t be done,” I objected. “The French soldiers I have met are all loyal to the emperor and I have seen the people cheering the soldiers in the streets. They would not support another revolution, especially if Bonaparte brings them more victories and spoils after beating the Russians.”

“You are wrong. The plan comes from an army general, one still loyal to republican principles. Many French people are proud of their republic and what it stood for. They have watched with disgust as we have replaced a king with an emperor. The names might have changed, but the tyranny is just the same. When a second republic is declared and they see that power is being returned to the people, they will rise up and defend their rights.”

“And do you think Bonaparte and his supporters will just let them take his power away?”

“The republic will be declared when he is deep into Russia; his key supporters will be arrested and replaced. The plans are already made. By the time he hears he has been overthrown it will be too late. If we can agree a peace with Wellington then we can bring the French armies in Spain back into France to defend the new order. Bonaparte and his family will be declared enemies of France and exiled.”

“Good God,” I breathed as I took this in. It was turning out to be an extraordinary evening. What she was proposing would bring Britain victory in Spain and probably an end to the war with France. “And you want Grant and me to write to Wellington to let him know about this plan?”

“Yes, but not until you meet the general who is going to create the new republic. I am going to take you to see him tomorrow.”

Instead of returning to the chapel, Madame Trebuchet, or Sophie as she now insisted I call her, offered me a room in the house. While Grant lay curled up on his hard wooden platform, I reclined on a comfortable mattress with embroidered coverings; but I hazard to guess that Grant slept better than me. My mind was in a whirl at the revelations of the evening. It was scarcely believable that Grant and I could play a role in changing the government in France and consequently the political situation around the world. We would be feted across England and I imagined the honours that would be heaped on us: peerages, the thanks of parliament and pensions.

Britain would be the dominant power in Europe as France would almost certainly fall into a civil war between the republicans and the Bonapartists. I was not at all convinced by Sophie’s claims that the country would slip peacefully into a benign republic, bringing order and peace to the country. The original French republic had been a chaotic and bloody affair and I was doubtful everyone would welcome it back. Even if some generals would support the new order, others would stay loyal to the emperor. The French army would be split and would waste its energy fighting itself rather than France’s neighbours.

With advance warning of what was happening, Wellington would let the French army withdraw from Spain as he would see as easily as I could the chaos that would ensue in France. Some of the French army units in Spain would support Bonaparte, others the republic, but the British objective of liberating Spain and Portugal would have been achieved. Doubtless Britain would look to snap up other French possessions to take advantage of the situation. All this because Grant and I, people Wellington trusted, had happened across the plotters in Paris. It was an incredible chance.

I must have slept a little, but as soon as it was light I got dressed, slipped from my room and went down to the chapel. Having assured himself that Clothilde was not in the vicinity, Grant lowered the ladder and came down from the tower. He was unshaven and looked haggard, but he brightened up as we sat behind the altar and I whispered to him everything that Madame Trebuchet had told me the previous evening.

“But our government wants to put the French king back on the throne,” he protested.

“It doesn’t matter. Once the Bonapartists and republicans have fought themselves to a standstill, they will probably let a French poodle sit on the throne, never mind the king, if it means peace.”

“Will we have to stay in Paris and provide Wellington with reports on the plot as the preparations are made?” asked Grant.

I hadn’t thought of that. I had no wish to stay in France, especially if the plot was not going to be activated until the
Grande Armée
was deep into Russia. That could be several months away and in the meantime we risked firing squads and torture.

“If Sophie, I mean Madame Trebuchet, and the plotters have a means of getting written messages to Wellington, perhaps they can help our escape too,” I mused.

Then we both sat back in silence, thinking about how we had a part to play on the world’s stage and the glory it promised. Little did we realise that we were just bit part players in a drama of which we were then completely unaware.

Chapter 27

There have been several times in my life when what had seemed sensible, well-thought-out plans turned out to be unmitigated disasters. The defence of a hill fort against Pindaree bandits in India had been one; trying to outrun a Zulu impi on horseback was another – but for sheer certifiable lunacy the plans for the second republic in France take some beating.

My initial high hopes for the scheme were dashed almost from the start. When the carriage that Sophie Trebuchet had ordered pulled up outside the house, I saw that it was open topped so anyone could see who was inside. I had expected to be taken out of the city to a remote headquarters of the conspirators or at the very least through a maze of streets and alleyways so that we could not be followed. Instead I was told that we were visiting a rest home operated by a Doctor Dubuisson not far from the centre of Paris.

“That is where General Malet is living,” announced Sophie.

“Is he the general who will establish the new republic?” I had been hoping for a general I had heard of or even a marshal of France, but Malet was not a name I was familiar with. My disappointment may have sounded in my voice.

“He is a great general of France,” declared Sophie defensively. “Once a rival of Bonaparte, but he refused to bow the knee to the tyrant and is now forced to live in the rest home.”

“He is lucky he is not in prison,” I muttered.

“Oh, he was,” declared Sophie proudly. “He was arrested for his involvement in another plot to overthrow the emperor, but he used his influence to secure a release to the rest home.”

“You mean he has done this before?” I was astounded. “Surely the authorities are already watching him?”

“Oh no, they allow him visitors freely and no details are taken of those that see him. You should not underestimate the arrogance of Bonaparte and his minions. They think they are quite safe. Bonaparte has been emperor for nearly eight years and his ministers, relatives and marshals are too busy squabbling amongst themselves. The minister of war and the minister of police hate each other and most of the ministries have their own agents who spend their time spying on their rivals.”

Sophie was right up to a point. No one stopped us entering the rest home, which was a large, rambling affair, and no one asked for or checked our identities. But as Sophie led me along a corridor on the first floor a man stepped out from a side room. I guessed he was the good Doctor Dubuisson.

“Madame Trebuchet, a pleasure to see you again. I am sure that you will brighten the general’s day. And you have a companion, a soldier no less…” He beamed at me expectantly and held out a hand in greeting.

“Captain Henri Lafitte,” I muttered, reluctantly shaking the cold and clammy hand. It was the only identity I had a document to support.

“Well, I am sure you will find the general in good spirits,” the sawbones announced with a satisfied smile and then he stepped out of the way and allowed us to continue down the passage. It had been smoothly done but I guessed that no one visited the general without some sort of interception.

“I don’t trust this place,” I whispered to Sophie as we walked along. “Somebody might be eavesdropping on the general’s room. I would be obliged if you do not give the general our real names, just say we have a code Wellington will trust.”

“Of course, if that is what you want,” she whispered back. “But I think you are wrong. They have forgotten about him and soon they will pay the price.”

A moment later she knocked on a door, which was thrown open by a wild-eyed cove. He looked to be around sixty, but may have been slightly younger. His powdered wig and knee britches that were long out of fashion, gave him the air of an aristocrat; not something you would think would be popular in a republican France. As Sophie introduced me as her friend Henri Lafitte, he made a great show of hospitality. He offered us the two chairs in the room and glasses of water, the only refreshment he had. Mine had a dead fly floating in it and so I left it on the windowsill.

Sophie and the general spent some time on pleasantries such as the weather and the health of her children, which gave me the opportunity to observe him. Given that he was in a rest home I had half expected him to be slightly deranged; but apart from his eyes, which never settled on anything for more than a second or two, he seemed well balanced. He made some reference to a quote from Plato and so was clearly well educated, his hands were steady and he seemed open and welcoming. Eventually he took his seat on the side of the bed and looked at us expectantly.

“I have brought Henri because I think he will be able to help us,” declared Sophie quietly. “You told us that it was vital we disengaged our army from Spain before any forces could return from Russia. Henri can help us. He knows Lord Wellington and believes Wellington will trust him. I thought he could write to Wellington with some warning of what is going to happen so that the British support the withdrawal of our troops.”

The general turned to face me, his eyes locking briefly onto mine and then darting about my body before returning to my face. “How well do you know Lord Wellington, Henri?”

“I met him ten years ago in India. I did him a good service there and since then I have met him in Spain several times.”

“India?” queried the general, smiling. “We did not have many French soldiers in India, but there were plenty of British ones. The leather of your boots is also not cut in the French style. No, no, don’t try to explain; it is better for us that you know Lord Wellington well. I judge you know him better than any French officer.”

I had started to interrupt him, mentioning my boots were battlefield loot, but then lapsed into silence. He was certainly observant, but any hope I entertained of shrewdness was dashed a moment later. “How will you execute your plan?” I asked.

“Ah, the simplest plans are always the best,” he replied, getting up. Then he bent down and pulled an unlocked trunk from under his bed. With a grunt he hauled it up and placed it on the mattress before throwing open the lid. “Look, I have now got my general’s coat.” He showed Sophie a blue army coat adorned with plenty of gold braid. “We will get more coats for the others. Someone else has got my sword, as I am not allowed to keep that here.”

Sophie smiled with delight at the sight of the garment, but to me he sounded more like a schoolboy planning a breakout to a local inn than a man planning a revolution. Things did not improve when he started showing what he kept beneath the coat.

“We will wait until Bonaparte is deep into Russia and then we will announce that the emperor is dead and a new provisional republican government has been appointed. Look, here are some of the proclamations.” He passed me an undated document announcing the death of Napoleon and the appointment of a new provisional government. It had various stamps and seals on the bottom, but how genuine they looked I could not judge.

“But surely his supporters and those in power will insist that he is still alive?” I asked sceptically.

“Oh, the first step will be to secure the Paris garrison; you see here is an order signed by the new provisional government, putting it under my command.” He handed me another official-looking document before continuing. “Then we will release key prisoners who will support the republic.” He handed me more papers.

“That one is for the release of Victor Lahorie, another general,” stated Sophie. “He used to live in your chapel before he was arrested, but now he will be the new minister of police.”

That, I realised, must be Sophie’s former lover, but I was more concerned with the wild optimism of the plan. “But surely the incumbents in these roles won’t give up their power that easily?”

“As soon as the prisoners are released,” Malet explained, “they will be sent with a detachment of the Paris garrison to arrest their predecessors. By lunchtime republicans will hold all key positions of power. The Bonapartists will be arrested before they even know a coup has happened. Once we have secured our position we will issue a declaration to the people to announce the return of their beloved republic.”

I shook my head in disbelief as he rummaged in his box, bringing out arrest warrants and release papers, all undated but bearing seals and stamps. The whole plot was laid out in detail for anyone to see, in an unlocked chest, kept under a bed in a nursing home.

“How many people know about the plans for the new republic?” I asked, and before he could answer I could not help myself from suggesting, “Surely you should at least keep a lock on that box?”

“The general knows what he is doing,” reprimanded Sophie, but Malet held up a hand in submission.

“Our British friend is quite right to challenge us.” He turned to me. “Very few people know about our endeavour. I learned that lesson from my first attempt to overthrow the emperor. We were discovered because too many people knew about the plans. This time only a core of trusted people knows what will happen and only I know all the details.”

“But it is all in that unlocked box,” I protested. “You must leave this room sometimes, and anyone can read through the papers.”

“You are right,” agreed the general. “My box does not have a lock. Sophie, my dear, would you be kind enough to bring some chains and a padlock when you next come? But, Henri, don’t worry: the authorities have quite forgotten about me. So, do you think that your friend Wellington will support the new republic?”

“He will,” I confirmed without hesitation. “Wellington is no republican but you are effectively offering him the liberation of Spain with no further British casualties. I am sure he will suspend hostilities if the French army retreats into France.”

Malet looked delighted and actually clapped his hands with joy, but it really should not have been a surprise. As well as the liberation of Spain, the British commander would envisage the chaos that would follow in France. But Wellington was an old hand at plots and intrigues, and if I was a judge, he would not put much credence on this one until it happened.

We took our leave shortly after that with me wondering if my security suggestion had in fact made the situation worse. If Malet was right and the authorities had forgotten about him then several yards of chain around a box under his bed might attract their attention. On the other hand, I found it strange that a known conspirator had been released from prison at all.

On the way back Sophie could barely restrain her excitement, but managed to avoid giving any details of their scheme with the coachman just a few feet away. Once back inside the house she hugged me and announced that Grant and I would be heroes of the new republic. Her two boys in the house came to see what all the noise was about and it reminded me of the huge risks she was taking.

“How often do you visit the general?” I asked when we were alone again.

“Oh, at least once a month. I help him get messages out to some of the others.”

“Then surely if the plot is discovered, you will be arrested too. Are you not worried for yourself and your children?”

“No,” she declared simply, before adding, “I have protection. They cannot arrest me.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Surely if you try to overthrow the emperor, they will detain everybody.”

“They would certainly arrest most of the conspirators, but the minister of police will do everything in his power to ensure that I am not taken into custody. He knows that if I am arrested, he will be too.”

“I don’t understand. Is he a friend of your husband?”

“The minister of police is a man called Savary. He likes everyone to think he is a committed Bonapartist, but a few years ago he was aware of a scheme to overthrow the government by some of his former commanders. It was the plot Victor Lahorie was convicted for. Savary wrote to Lahorie, mentioning the plot, before it was discovered. I have the letter and Savary knows it. If the letter were revealed, it would show that Savary was once a traitor to Bonaparte. That is why he will make sure that I am not arrested.”

It sounded tenuous protection to me but I did not argue. Imperial politics was a volatile affair with ministers plotting against each other. Savary could easily be replaced in his role by the emperor or even be killed during the attempt for the second republic. Then if the Bonapartists regained power, she would have no protection at all. I thought it unlikely that the plot would stay secret long enough to be activated. But if it did, I also had doubts that the people would flock to the new republic.

“If the French army is released from Spain,” I asked, “are you sure that most of them will serve the new republic? Surely some, like your husband, will take their forces to support the emperor?”

“My husband will certainly stay loyal to the emperor,” she answered with disdain. “His republican principles have long since been bought with the baubles of rank and privilege. But many of the common soldiers will join us, particularly if we promise them peace.” She smiled at my look of scepticism. “You are British. You do not understand France. We have been at war with one country or another for twenty-five years; we have run out of fit young men. For the Russian campaign they have swept the hospitals for walking wounded, conscripted young boys and re-enlisted old soldiers who had been retired. The country is being bled dry and the people want their surviving sons and husbands to come home.” She paused and added, “Although in my case I am happy for my husband to stay away with his mistress.”