He had read about the trial and execution of Marshal Ney, who had been one of his bravest commanders at Waterloo and yet was now deemed to be a traitor, and of the rise of the ‘ultra-royalists’, extreme conservatives who aimed to restore the ancien régime and purge the country of those who, in their view, had betrayed it. The papers reported 300 victims of their ‘white terror’ in the south of France, and in the August election the ‘ultras’ had been triumphant in the Chamber of Deputies; as a result, the country was divided and many feared the restored Bourbon monarchy would not survive. Bingham observed Napoleon’s optimism: ‘The greater confusion there is in France, the greater chance he thinks there is of his being allowed to return, as he thinks the English government will be obliged to recall him to compose the confusion that exists in that unhappy country.’23 Catherine Younghusband had the same impression and wrote to her aunt: ‘I am told that he is quite convinced that the French nation will recall him; indeed, he says, it cannot do without him; & he much fears it will not be safe for any English to travel in France through the exasperation of the French at his being kept at St Helena.’24

Las Cases went up to Longwood without Bonaparte and failed to notice a paint odour. Bertrand was chided for an exaggerated report. As dusk fell, Napoleon strolled in The Briars’ garden with Gourgaud and confided his new idea—the English ought to raise an insurrection in Paris as a pretext for burning the city: ‘It would be a great coup for England to destroy our capital. The English could probably sink our Fleet, overwhelm our ports, especially Cherbourg, Brest, Toulon. After this they would have nothing to fear from France for a long time.’25

But they would have much to fear from Napoleon Bonaparte. If he had the chance, the burning of Paris and destruction of the principal French ports and fleets were not too high a price to pay, if he could return to take control.

On the morning of 10 December, ‘that good man Bony’ went out to the orchard to farewell Toby and presented him with twenty Napoleon coins, a fortune for the old slave—but not enough to buy the freedom he craved. Bonaparte then joined his hosts at The Briars’ house for a final luncheon. Marchand noted that although Balcombe would continue to have free access to the emperor in his role as providore, he ‘was urged to come see him with his daughters and wife once we were settled at Longwood’.26

Admiral Cockburn arrived in a carriage with General Bertrand and an escort of guards to accompany the prisoner to his new home. Betsy could not be consoled at the departure of the man she had presumed to regard ‘almost as a brother or companion of my own age’. He saw her weeping and came up to her: ‘“You must not cry, Mademoiselle Betsee; you must come and see me next week, and very often”. I told him that depended on my father. He turned to him and said, “Balcombe, you must bring Missee Jane and Betsee to see me next week eh? When will you ride up to Longwood?” My father promised he would, and kept his word. He asked where mamma was, and I said she desired her kind regards to the emperor, and regretted not being able to see him before his departure, as she was ill in bed. “I will go and see her”; and up the stairs he darted before we had time to tell my mother of his approach. He seated himself on the bed, and expressed his regret at hearing she was unwell.’ He thanked her for her kindness to him and presented her with a gold snuff box, asking that she give it to her husband as a mark of friendship. He gave the tearful Betsy a little good-luck charm she had often admired, joking that she should give it ‘as a gage d’amour [a pledge of love] to le petit Las Cases’.

Marchand had gone ahead to Longwood: ‘I wished to arrive there before the Emperor in order to receive him.’27 Balcombe accompanied the main party on the three-mile ascent, arriving in the late afternoon. On his return his family wanted to know what Napoleon thought of his new residence and were told that ‘he appeared out of spirits, and, retiring to his dressing-room, had shut himself up for the remainder of the day’.28

Napoleon may not have known it then, or perhaps he guessed, but his one period of gaiety—unexpected, incongruous, and principally due to Betsy Balcombe—on the island of St Helena was at an end.

CHAPTER 10

LONGWOOD HOUSE

During the two months that the exiled emperor stayed at The Briars he had gone out of his way to establish warm relations with the Balcombe family: with the irrepressible Betsy, of course; with sweet-natured Jane; with playful Thomas; and with young Alexander, who reminded him of his own son. He could not fail to like the attractive Mrs Balcombe, for she was liked by everyone. But he had made a particular effort to cultivate the gregarious, heavy-drinking and often boastful William Balcombe—hardly his type—and to flatter him that they were friends. It was tactical for him to flatter the protégé of Sir Thomas Tyrwhitt, who was close to the royal family and within their ambit of power.

Furthermore, an intriguing rumour was circulating about Balcombe. Montholon had heard it: ‘It was said in the island that he was the natural son of the Prince of Wales.’1 The story had been around for some years, for it was known to Balcombe’s former business partner William Burchell.2 The St Helena Archives holds a copy of Burchell’s ‘St Helena Journal’. On 6 July 1808 he had written: ‘Balcombe dined with me; he mentioned that it had been said to Mr Tyrwhitt that it was reported that B. was a son of the Prince of Wales & that Mr T. desired B. to contradict such a report. By my letters I learn that he is the son of a poor fisherman of Brighton who was drowned & the Prince hearing of the distressed state of the widow desired Tyrwhitt to take care of the two children who were then very young. But it seems B. encouraged this report if not set it on foot.’3 Burchell clearly doubted the story of royal paternity and suspected his colleague of promoting it.