She stammered: ‘Monsieur, je ne sais pas. I don’t know.’

‘Oui, oui,’ he laughed. ‘Vous savez très bien, c’est moi qui l’a brûlé!’

She believed that was not right. He did not set fire to Moscow. She gained courage and said: ‘I believe, sir, that the Russians burned it to get rid of the French.’13

In her account he laughed and slapped his knee at the bold answer. He was delighted with her. It was a long time since he had encountered such blunt honesty.

William Balcombe was well pleased with the extraordinary new arrangement. This amiable and hospitable man, known for the amplitude of his table, rose from his bed to host dinner for their new house guest.

Balcombe and his wife ‘spoke French with difficulty’, and Jane was less fluent than her sister, so the burden for the evening’s conversation rested on Betsy’s unworldly shoulders.14 It is hard to imagine what was passing through the mind of the fallen emperor, sharing a repast for the first time in his life with ordinary English citizens, a people he had sought to conquer and rule. Mrs Balcombe was vivacious, relieved not to be losing her home. Napoleon found her very attractive: he later confided to Betsy that her mother bore a remarkable resemblance to the Empress Josephine.

Napoleon’s approach with someone he found of potential use was to fire a salvo of questions: how long had they held a particular position, what had they done before, and had they seen military action? He would have been interested to hear that Balcombe had been a midshipman who saw action in the West Indies, for he always expressed admiration for the Royal Navy, while disparaging the British army. Balcombe had then gone to India as a ship’s officer with the East India Company. Bonaparte was fascinated by the Indian subcontinent, which he had planned to conquer after Egypt. It is reasonable to speculate that he would have questioned his new host about his three long trading voyages to Madras and Bengal for the Company. After all, Napoleon made personal queries of most English people he met; how much more likely was he to do so with the man whose home he now occupied? And about whom he may already have heard certain rumours concerning his important connections?

They repaired to the parlour and sat appreciatively as Jane played the piano. Napoleon asked Betsy whether she liked music, adding: ‘You are too young to play yourself, of course.’ She wrote that she felt piqued by this and told him she could both play and sing. He requested an offering, so she sang, as well as she could, ‘Ye Banks and Braes’. When she had finished he declared it was the prettiest English air he had ever heard.

‘It’s a Scottish ballad, Your Majesty.’

‘Then that accounts for it. Of course it is too pretty to be English! Their music is vile—the worst in the world!’

He enquired if she knew any French songs; for instance, did she know Grétry’s ‘Vive Henri Quatre’? Betsy had never heard of it. He began to hum, left his seat and strutted about the room, tonelessly singing while pumping his arm in time.

Mrs Balcombe and Jane applauded politely. Very pleased with himself, Napoleon asked Betsy what she thought. She shook her head, reluctant to speak, favouring him with her smile instead. He encouraged her, beaming. He now knew that she was no court flatterer; her opinion could be worth hearing.

She said simply: ‘I didn’t like it at all!’

‘Why ever not?’

‘I couldn’t make out any tune.’

‘No tune?’ He tweaked her ear. ‘You are just saying that to provoke me.’

‘No, sir, I’m just trying to tell the truth.’

No one had ever criticised his singing. Perhaps honesty was not always so delightful. Mrs Balcombe, who had missed most of the exchange, was surprised when their guest made an abrupt move to depart. Betsy observed: ‘The emperor retired for the night shortly after my little attempt to amuse him, and this terminated his first day at the Briars.’15

At the Porteous lodgings in Jamestown, General Gourgaud finished a desultory meal as he listened to Bertrand’s account of the day’s events, the unsatisfactory tour of Longwood and the arrangement that had been made at The Briars. That evening he wrote in his journal: ‘Bertrand remarks that there are two pretty young ladies at The Briars, and that I shall be able to marry.’16

CHAPTER 5

THE PAVILION

I walked past the Consulate Hotel down the steep main street, at the bottom of which the RMS St Helena, still at anchor, was framed in the town wall’s archway. With some surprise I noted the sign ‘Solomon & Company’ on a substantial building—the largest island merchant during Napoleon’s captivity and apparently still. At the colonnaded post office they were doing the brisk business only possible when a ship was in, selling St Helena’s colourful stamps to tourists.