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Authors: Winston Graham
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years, Ross thought, had not dealt too badly with the putative George the Fourth. When he had last seen him he had been stertorous, wobbly on his feet, his face and body swollen with an excess of high living, a gross Hanoverian dedicated to pleasure and self-indulgence. Only once or twice had it been possible to detect a keen
brain somewhere surfacing through the blubber. Now he looked no worse - if anything slightly better. Perhaps his later mistresses, with their emphasis on a more restrained way of life, had done him some good - or at least prevented further rapid deterioration. The old man, his father, they said, was now so far gone that he had to be lifted everywhere and was only conscious of touch and smell.
'And now I am told you are off to Paris on some new mission. What is it to be?'
Confronted with the direct question, Ross hesitated and then said: 'I believe I am invited to be an observer, sir.'
'As you were in Portugal, eh? Well, there it is. My government - or some group within my government - has its own ideas. I trust your mission of observance will prosper.'
'Thank you, sir.'
The Prince's fingers fumbled with the hilt of his sword.
'It's true, is it not, Poldark, that you have a partiality for duelling.'
Who had been telling tales now? 'Very far from it, Your Highness. I have only been involved in one duel in my life, and I derived no satisfaction from the outcome.'
'Well, let me tell you, my friend, let me give you a word of warning. All Parisians at present are duelling mad. Whether it is because they can no longer fight a war and have to express their spirits in some other way I know not. They look for an insult anywhere, and if they detect one you will be out on some draughty heath at six o'clock of the morning with pistols and seconds and the rest of the paraphernalia before you can say knife. Are you a good shot?'
'Fair, I suppose. Not more.'
'Well, step lightly and avoid corns. I have no patience with the custom meself and neither does the law of England, but those Frenchies please themselves.'
'I appreciate your warning, Your Highness.'
The Prince grunted. 'French are a strange race, eh? No sense of moderation, no sense of humour. Remember the Gordon riots?'
'I think I was abroad at the time.'
'Maybe. 'Twould be thirty-five years ago, I suppose, give or take a year. A good nine years before the Bastille nonsense. Can't remember what started it now.'
The Prince seemed so lost in thought that Ross wondered if he had forgotten what the purpose of the meeting was.
'Must have been something to do with a man called Gordon, I suppose. Anyway all London ran amok. Populace went mad. All the prisons were broke open: the Fleet, the Marshalsea, the King's Bench. Prisoners were freed, just like at the Bastille. Some distillery - Langdale's, I think was set afire and gin was handed out to everyone. They say folk lay in the gutters drinking it as it flowed away. Then looting and burning everywhere. My father - you know he is no tyrant - nor no milksop neither - finally he ordered out the Horse Guards. They charged the crowds with swords and bayonets. Some two hundred and eighty-odd people killed. About thirty hanged. All over in no time. Dead weren't found - their bodies were dumped in the Fleet. Scarred houses were plastered up before dawn blood-splashed walls of the Bank of England even whitewashed too. Next morning all peaceful. No inquiry called for, not by MPs, not by the mob. An incident - much more bloody than the Bastille. But did it lead to twenty years of revolution and a war-thirsty dictator? It did not. 'Twas over and done with in a single night. I suppose the English have more sense.'
'It seems so,' said Ross. The Prince weighed the sword in his hands again and yawned.
'Well, I suppose you'd best kneel, sir. That's the custom, y'know. That's if your back is not too stiff .. . Have no fear, I do not intend to decapitate you.'
II
When the crowded packet reached Calais all was confusion
brain somewhere surfacing through the blubber. Now he looked no worse - if anything slightly better. Perhaps his later mistresses, with their emphasis on a more restrained way of life, had done him some good - or at least prevented further rapid deterioration. The old man, his father, they said, was now so far gone that he had to be lifted everywhere and was only conscious of touch and smell.
'And now I am told you are off to Paris on some new mission. What is it to be?'
Confronted with the direct question, Ross hesitated and then said: 'I believe I am invited to be an observer, sir.'
'As you were in Portugal, eh? Well, there it is. My government - or some group within my government - has its own ideas. I trust your mission of observance will prosper.'
'Thank you, sir.'
The Prince's fingers fumbled with the hilt of his sword.
'It's true, is it not, Poldark, that you have a partiality for duelling.'
Who had been telling tales now? 'Very far from it, Your Highness. I have only been involved in one duel in my life, and I derived no satisfaction from the outcome.'
'Well, let me tell you, my friend, let me give you a word of warning. All Parisians at present are duelling mad. Whether it is because they can no longer fight a war and have to express their spirits in some other way I know not. They look for an insult anywhere, and if they detect one you will be out on some draughty heath at six o'clock of the morning with pistols and seconds and the rest of the paraphernalia before you can say knife. Are you a good shot?'
'Fair, I suppose. Not more.'
'Well, step lightly and avoid corns. I have no patience with the custom meself and neither does the law of England, but those Frenchies please themselves.'
'I appreciate your warning, Your Highness.'
The Prince grunted. 'French are a strange race, eh? No sense of moderation, no sense of humour. Remember the Gordon riots?'
'I think I was abroad at the time.'
'Maybe. 'Twould be thirty-five years ago, I suppose, give or take a year. A good nine years before the Bastille nonsense. Can't remember what started it now.'
The Prince seemed so lost in thought that Ross wondered if he had forgotten what the purpose of the meeting was.
'Must have been something to do with a man called Gordon, I suppose. Anyway all London ran amok. Populace went mad. All the prisons were broke open: the Fleet, the Marshalsea, the King's Bench. Prisoners were freed, just like at the Bastille. Some distillery - Langdale's, I think was set afire and gin was handed out to everyone. They say folk lay in the gutters drinking it as it flowed away. Then looting and burning everywhere. My father - you know he is no tyrant - nor no milksop neither - finally he ordered out the Horse Guards. They charged the crowds with swords and bayonets. Some two hundred and eighty-odd people killed. About thirty hanged. All over in no time. Dead weren't found - their bodies were dumped in the Fleet. Scarred houses were plastered up before dawn blood-splashed walls of the Bank of England even whitewashed too. Next morning all peaceful. No inquiry called for, not by MPs, not by the mob. An incident - much more bloody than the Bastille. But did it lead to twenty years of revolution and a war-thirsty dictator? It did not. 'Twas over and done with in a single night. I suppose the English have more sense.'
'It seems so,' said Ross. The Prince weighed the sword in his hands again and yawned.
'Well, I suppose you'd best kneel, sir. That's the custom, y'know. That's if your back is not too stiff .. . Have no fear, I do not intend to decapitate you.'
II
When the crowded packet reached Calais all was confusion
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