Napoleon's Rabbit Farmer, page 12
The farmer gave a worried look. ‘Does that mean killing him?’
‘I am afraid that it does,’ said the agent. ‘It will be for the benefit of the Emperor and the future of France. We will dispose of him the night before he is due to sail.’
‘I am a veteran of many battles but have never been party to such things before,’ said Robeaud, taking a pinch of snuff from a silver box.
‘Do not worry. I will do the nasty work. You will have to help me with the body. We will arrive at his office at the end of the day with something interesting for him to buy and ask for a private meeting.’
The following afternoon the agent and Robeaud watched the middle-aged dealer’s office from a China tea house directly across the road. ‘His clerk always leaves 10 or 15 minutes before he does,’ said Dumot. ‘That is when we will go in and deal with him. It is important that we are not disturbed, so we must close the shop quickly.’
‘Do you think that he keeps a weapon near at hand in case of robberies?’ asked Robeaud.
‘He might do. I will approach him and stop in the middle of the room with a case containing silver bars. As I hand him a bar with my left hand, I will hit him very hard with a truncheon. I will then choke him with a cord as we don’t want blood on his clothes or anywhere else. As soon as I have done this you will lock the office door. We will then drag his body into a room at the back where you will take his jacket, waistcoat and wallet. I will go through his papers and take anything that we might need.’
Two days before van Riebeck was due to leave Cape Town, Robeaud followed him from his grand, mitre-fronted home, where he lived alone. The silver dealer strolled through the crowded streets to the harbour and to an office of the East India Company, where he finalised his arrangements for his passage to Europe via St Helena. It wasn’t difficult for Robeaud to conceal himself among the traders, seafarers and passengers, even when van Riebeck stopped twice to talk to acquaintances.
That evening Dumot showed the farmer some maps of St Helena. ‘You will have to memorise the route to Longwood. We can’t have you getting lost. It is about four and half miles from Jamestown and there will be a horse waiting at the back of Solomon’s shop.’
‘General Gourgaud and Count Las Cases gave me very detailed descriptions and told me about a path into the Longwood garden,’ said Robeaud.
‘That is good. You can never have too much information. Jamestown has one main street and another smaller one along the beach. The castle on the left of the beach is the town residence of the British Governor. There is also a hospital, tavern and barracks. When you land you will have to go to the town mayor’s office to read and sign the island regulations. No visitors are allowed to spend the night on the island without permission.’
‘How will we dispose of van Riebeck’s body?’ asked Robeaud, nervously changing the subject.
‘I have paid a former servant of mine, Saul, to bring a cart to the back door of his office. It is normally used to carry rubbish. He will take it away. It is important that van Riebeck’s clerk does not suspect anything when he arrives in the morning. There must be no evidence that anything is wrong.’
Robeaud did not sleep well the night before their visit to the silver dealer’s office and had moments when he wished he had remained at home in Baleycourt with his sister. The next day Dumot went over the plans until 5.30 and then announced that it was time to leave. He handed the rabbit farmer a large canvas bag.
‘You will need this to carry the things that we will collect.’
Dressed as wealthy businessmen in smart coats, the Frenchmen waited on the corner of the busy thoroughfare that was closest to van Riebeck’s office, which had two large rectangular shuttered windows each side of the door. As the minutes passed they grew increasingly anxious. It was 10 past six and the silver dealer’s clerk had not yet left.
‘You can normally set your watch by him,’ said the agent, who was gripping a heavy leather satchel. ‘I don’t understand the delay ... oh hell, it looks like they are leaving together.’
The office door had opened slightly and the clerk and van Riebeck appeared.
‘What shall we do?’ said Robeaud, giving a worried glance.
‘We must proceed anyway, come on let’s go.’
The pair walked quickly across the street. ‘Excuse me sir,’ said Dumot to the dealer, who was about to lock the front door. ‘Forgive my late arrival, but I have a quantity of silver that I am keen to sell.’
‘We are just locking up, perhaps you would like to return tomorrow and see my assistant, Jen,’ said van Riebeck, who was red in the face.
‘I’m sorry but that will not be possible,’ replied Dumot, opening his satchel and giving the trader a glimpse of the contents. ‘Can we go inside?’
‘Well if you insist. It’s all right Jen, you go ahead. I will deal with these gentlemen.’
‘Have a safe and pleasant journey,’ said the clerk. ‘Remember your business is in good hands.’
Van Riebeck opened the door and gestured for Dumot and Robeaud to step inside. The office was dominated by a large desk surrounded by shelves of silver tableware and ivory ornaments.
‘What do you want to show me?’ said the dealer staring at Dumot over a pair of tiny spectacles.
The agent opened his satchel and removed two silver bars while Robeaud remained near the door, examining an ivory chess piece. The agent held out the bars for the dealer.
‘How many have you got?’ said van Riebeck, stepping closer to inspect them.
‘I have a dozen,’ said Dumot, who in an instant slipped a heavy wooden truncheon from his sleeve. Van Ribeck was quick to spot the danger and jerked his head back to avoid Dumot’s curving blow. The dealer grimaced with pain as it caught him only slightly and he reached inside his jacket. ‘I didn’t think you were robbers,’ he shouted in fear. Drawing a small, single-shot pistol, Van Ribeck pulled back the lock and fired at the precise moment Dumot delivered a hard blow to his forearm. The lead ball missed the agent completely but there was a sharp cry of pain from behind the pair, who became locked in a fierce struggle. Dumot gripped the silver trader’s throat and delivered a third vicious blow with the truncheon, this time full on his head and then a fourth, breaking his scalp. He took a looped cord from his coat pocket and put it over van Riebeck’s head, yanking it tight with all his considerable strength. The dealer dropped his pistol and tried with both hands to loosen the cord, but was gasping for air and changing colour. He choked and rasped for what seemed like minutes, his tongue protruding from his mouth, before blacking out. Dumot kept the cord tight until his victim stopped breathing.
Only then did he look up to see Robeaud, who was slumped on the polished wooden floor clasping an ankle that was bleeding heavily. ‘My God, you’ve been hit. Are you all right Francois?’
‘It caught my ankle,’ replied the farmer. ‘The ball might have broken the bone.’
Dumot went to the door, carrying the dealer’s keys, and turned the lock. He handed his companion a handkerchief to help stop the bleeding and picked up the flattened lead bullet that had bounced off the wall.
‘I hope no one heard the shot,’ said Robeaud grimacing with the pain.
‘It wasn’t very loud. Can you help me drag the body into the back room?’
‘I will try,’ said the farmer getting up and hobbling towards the dead man.
Dumot pushed the dealer into a sitting position and clasped his arms around the torso from behind. Robeaud attempted to lift the man’s leg but quickly lost his balance, with blood from his wound spotting the floor.
‘It is okay. I can manage,’ said Dumot, breathless with the effort. In four or five steps he dragged the body into the back room. ‘Start removing van Ribeck’s possessions and the cord from his neck. I will quickly go through his bureau.’
Dumot went to retrieve his satchel, leaving four silver bars on the desk to give the impression that they had been traded. He picked up the pistol and truncheon and tried to tidy the office, examining a trail of blood. Robeaud had removed van Ribeck’s watch, wallet and shoes, and was attempting to tug his jacket from his back when there was a light tap at the back door. Dumot pulled aside the iron bolts. ‘That will be Saul,’ he said, opening the door slightly to check. A young man of mixed race appeared, carrying two large empty flour sacks. ‘Good evening my friend,’ said the agent pushing the door shut. ‘Will you help Monsieur Robeaud here while I use that jug of water over there to clean the floor. We need the clothes from this man’s back.’
When Dumot returned 10 minutes later the body had been placed in the two sacks, one over the legs and the other over the upper body. Saul opened the door to check that no one was in the alley and pushed aside two blankets on the cart, which had a cargo of rotting fruit. He signalled to Dumot that it was safe to move the body.
‘Return to my apartments,’ he said to Robeaud. ‘I will follow in a little while.’
The farmer did not look back to see the two men struggling to lift their heavy load on to the cart. A strong wind had picked up and he limped from the alley and on to the main street.
When Dumot returned later that evening he sent for a doctor to dress Robeaud’s ankle. ‘The bone has been chipped but there is no major damage,’ the elderly physician told him. ‘You must keep the wound clean.’ The agent showed the doctor to the door and returned to the sitting room, where the farmer was resting his wounded foot on a velvet stool.
‘A carriage will take you to the harbour before dawn tomorrow,’ Dumot told him. ‘Hopefully by the time you get to St Helena your wound will be healed. Van Riebeck’s luggage was taken to the shipping office yesterday afternoon. You will just have to board and then show one of the ship’s officers the papers I have here.’
‘What will you do now?’ said Robeaud, sipping from a pewter tankard of water.
‘I will take the next ship to Gibraltar and prepare for the arrival of the Emperor. My work here is over. Besides, it is best to make myself scarce.’
***
The wind was filling the large canvas sails of the Eurydice and the deck was a hive of activity. Robeaud checked the time on his new gold watch and slipped the finely-crafted timepiece back into the pocket of a waistcoat that fitted remarkably well. Van Riebeck’s spectacles were perched half way down his nose and the stiff breeze forced him to hold on to a round hat that was slightly too big for him. It was then that he noticed the shouting on the quay and a shiver ran down his spine. Robeaud instantly recognised the youth waving and calling as the ship pulled out to open water. It was the silver trader’s clerk who very fortunately had missed the boat by only minutes. Raising his hat high, Robeaud waved a farewell to the anxious young man.
Chapter 14
Rome
‘The Virgin Mary came to me again in my dreams last night,’ said Madame Kleinmuller sitting down at a small card table opposite Napoleon’s elderly mother. ‘There was a bright, almost blinding light, and she gave me a glimpse of the peace and the glory of the kingdom of heaven,’ continued the Austrian clairvoyant who was a regular visitor to Madame Mere’s grand house in Rome. ‘I have an overwhelming feeling of peace,’ she added.
Madame Mere was in awe. ‘I must tell my brother the Cardinal,’ she said, eager to begin her session with the fortune teller, whose curly dark hair was covered in a light blue head scarf. The pair sat opposite each other with their hands flat on the blue baize surface of the table and finger tips touching in the middle.
Madame Kleinmuller had her eyes closed and was in deep meditation. ‘I need something belonging to the Emperor Napoleon to help me,’ she said after a few minutes. ‘A personal object.’
‘I have a lock of my son’s hair,’ said Madame Mere. ‘I keep it in this gold locket.’ She carefully removed a chain from her neck.
‘That will be perfect.’ The clairvoyant placed it under her left palm with the links around her fingers and closed her eyes.
‘I have a very strong vision coming to me,’ she announced after a few moments. ‘I can see a host of angels lifting the Emperor from his exile and transporting him to a better place.’
‘That is wonderful,’ said Madame Mere with excitement in her voice. ‘It is the news I have long been waiting for.’
‘Please don’t speak, I need total silence,’ replied the clairvoyant sternly. ‘I am losing the vision.’ Madame Kleinmuller opened her eyes. ‘There is nothing else coming to me. My head is beginning to ache.’
‘I am most grateful to you,’ said Napoleon’s mother, who got up to fetch her purse from an ornate side table. She had tears in her dark eyes. ‘You have delivered wonderful news. Please will you return at the same time next week.’
‘It will be my pleasure,’ said Madame Kleinmuller, smiling as she accepted a very generous payment and was shown to the door by a footman.
Madame Mere could not wait to give the news to Cardinal Fesch when he arrived back at the Palazzo Rinuccini. He was dressed in his red cassock and was proudly wearing the cross of the Legion d’Honneur around his neck.
‘It is miracle, my dear Letitia,’ he said removing his round hat. ‘It is truly a miracle that Napoleon has been released from his torment. And it takes the pressure off me with regard to the new servants he requires.’
The Cardinal had been asked to appoint a French surgeon, priest, maître d’hotel and cook for his nephew’s Longwood household. The Grand Marshal Bertrand had written a long letter: ‘You are our bishop. Send us a French or Italian priest. Choose an educated man, who is under 40 and easy to get on with.’
But Fesch’s security in Rome and that of the exiles Madame Mere, her son Jerome and daughter Pauline depended on him following Papal policy under the scrutiny of the Sacred College. Any Bonapartist acts could see them lose their sanctuary. The church’s line was that Bonaparte should be completely isolated. No French nationals should be sent to Napoleon at St Helena nor anyone of ability. Madame Kleinmuller’s vision of the Emperor leaving the island, together with rumours of a plot to free him, helped ease the Cardinal’s guilt over his selection of staff.
He had chosen a 65-year-old priest for Longwood who had difficulty speaking after suffering a stroke. The Corsican abbe Buonavita had worked for 26 years as a missionary in Mexico before becoming Madame Mere’s chaplain.
Cardinal Fesch had been forced to ignore the application of Dr Forreau de Beauregard, who had attended Napoleon during his exile on Elba and been given the title Physician to the Emperor before the Waterloo campaign. He was keen to travel to St Helena and Napoleon would have welcomed him but Fesch was instructed to decline the offer as Beauregard was not a surgeon and the Emperor had specifically requested a surgeon.
The cardinal and Madame Mere favoured fellow Corsicans and the party would be made up of them. To assist the infirm Buonavita, a 25-year-old priest was appointed called Vignali. Although he struggled to read and write, he was articulate and had started to study medicine. The appointments won the Sacred College’s approval as Napoleon would be forced to speak to his new staff in Corsican Italian and not French. Madame Mere’s valet Coursot would be the maitre d’hotel and her daughter Pauline sent her talented cook Jacques Chandelier.
***
The letter announcing Dr Francois Antommarchi’s appointment was waiting for him when he left the dissecting room at the hospital of Santa Maria Nova in Florence. It was five days before Christmas and the anatomist had been giving a lesson to a group of 20 students using the cadaver of a muscular young man who had been hanged for murder. Antommarchi demonstrated a craniotomy, first making fine incisions over the shaved scalp to remove muscle before carrying out neat, symmetrical saw cuts, giving a clear view of the workings of the inner ear. He supervised the students’ drawings and then gave critical assessments.
Afterwards Antommarchi returned to his small office and opened the letter bearing the Cardinal’s wax seal. Fesch wrote: ‘Having been requested to procure a surgeon of some fame to attend to the Emperor Napoleon on the island of St Helena, I have decided to select you for that situation.’ The cardinal pointed to the excellent testimonials he had received and offered a salary of 9,000 francs a year. Fesch concluded his letter by stating that Antommarchi should travel to Rome where he would be introduced to Madame Mere and to those who would form a party being sent to St Helena. They would go to London via Germany to board a British ship for the island.
Antommarchi had gained a degree in philosophy and medicine aged 19 at Pisa and had become the assistant to the famous anatomist Paolo Mascagni but had little experience of practising medicine or surgery on the living.
Following Mascagni’s death in 1815, Antommarchi had spent a great deal of time editing his master’s works on anatomy and offering them for publication, which enhanced his own reputation.
As soon as the 30-year-old anatomist’s new appointment became public he fell under the scrutiny of the police and received anonymous threatening letters. This did not deter him. ‘I am going to serve the greatest person of the age, to share his exile, to enjoy his presence,’ he told himself. ‘The name of Napoleon fills their minds with terror.’
Antommarchi was surprised that the cardinal appeared to be in no hurry to send the party on the journey to St Helena. The dissector was forced to wait for a report on Napoleon’s health to be sent from England by Dr O’Meara, which in turn was then scrutinised by a council of five of Rome’s most eminent doctors. They were in agreement that the Emperor was suffering from an obstruction of the liver.
When the party finally left for London, Fesch wrote a long letter to Las Cases. With an implicit reference to the vision of Madame Mere’s clairvoyant, the cardinal suggested that a miracle had occurred. ‘Although the newspapers and the English keep pretending that Napoleon is at St Helena, we have grounds for thinking that he is there no longer. Although we do not know where he may be, nor when he will make himself visible, we have such proofs as enable us to persist in our belief.’
