Chapter 472: A Fleeting Dream
Paoli smiled faintly. "Of course, anything within my power, I'll gladly do for you."
He thought, 'Twenty thousand Pounds Sterling is half a million Livre — that kind of money is enough to make anyone sell their soul!'
"I need to ensure that all the donated funds are used for the great cause of Corsican independence," Chalmers explained. "So I'd like to know the specific allocation of the money." Chalmers offered an apologetic smile. "Please forgive me, this is by no means a lack of trust in you or your comrades."
He glanced around, lowering his voice. "Truth be told, a few years ago, I heavily funded the Irish Republicans. But those fellows ended up pocketing more than half of it themselves!"
The "Irish Republicans" Chalmers referred to were the Irish independence movement organizations. After Britain occupied Ireland, they had been secretly resisting, a movement that reached its peak in the late 18th century. Historically, they had even tried to use the French Revolution as an opportunity to ally with France and declare war on Britain.
Paoli and his three men exchanged glances. While they weren't particularly thrilled, their generous patron had made a request, so he could only nod his assent.
After the salon concluded, Chalmers accompanied Paoli directly to his home, where he listened as Paoli outlined the planned uses for the funds.
"Half of your donation will be used to purchase weapons and organize protests and uprisings," Paoli patiently explained. "The remainder will primarily serve as campaign funds to help the Restoration Organization's representatives secure more seats in parliament."
"You see, parliament is the political heart of Corsica. By controlling the parliament, we can marginalize the French government, which is a crucial component of our independence plan."
He paused, then continued, "However, based on my experience in Ireland, inciting riots is far less effective than wielding power at the upper echelons. Therefore, I believe more money should be invested in supporting the parliament members."
The three Restoration Organization members nearby instantly had their eyes light up upon hearing this, as they were either current Corsican parliament members or planning to run in this year's elections.
If they could secure a substantial amount of campaign funding, their chances of victory would multiply exponentially.
Paoli found this meddlesome benefactor quite a headache, and had to patiently, albeit reluctantly, explain why the funds needed to be allocated in that specific manner.
Chalmers suddenly waved a hand, a hint of impatience in his gesture. "You just mentioned that over twenty of your organization's parliament members will be facing competition. How could nine thousand Pounds Sterling possibly be enough to divide among them? Here's what we'll do: listen to my advice, and I'll sponsor an additional five thousand Pounds Sterling myself."
Paoli was momentarily stunned by the magnate's generosity. After a swift internal calculation, he agreed to the proposal: seventeen thousand Pounds Sterling would be distributed among the Restoration Organization's parliamentary candidates to help them win the election.
Chalmers proved his word; the very next afternoon, he solemnly delivered two heavy leather cases filled with banknotes to Paoli. The three high-ranking members of the Restoration Organization who had accompanied Paoli witnessed and verified the transaction.
"Your struggle for freedom will ultimately succeed!"
Chalmers took the receipt from Paoli, then grandly added, "Next year, after I receive the dividends from my East India Company shares, I will fund you with another twenty-five thousand Pounds Sterling."
After seeing off their benefactor, Paoli checked his watch. It was already past five o'clock, and the banks were closed. These banknotes would be far more useful if exchanged for gold coins, making it easier to purchase weapons in America, Northern Europe, and other regions.
So he had no choice but to lock the money cases inside the study's safe. He then repeatedly stressed to the butler the importance of having someone guard the main gate that night, ensuring no mishaps occurred.
As night fell.
Paoli's wife's lady's maid stealthily rose from her bed, retrieved a pouch of tools from a box tucked beneath it, and then crept in darkness toward the study on the second floor.
Twice on her way, she encountered servants on watch, but each merely cast a fleeting glance her way before nonchalantly turning their heads.
Indeed, every one of them was an agent dispatched by the French Intelligence Bureau.
After acquiring Paoli's movements from the British government, the Intelligence Bureau had thoroughly infiltrated Paoli's household over the past six months. Now, nearly half the staff in the villa were on the Intelligence Bureau's payroll. If the disadvantages of killing Paoli didn't outweigh the benefits, he would have met his end dozens of times over.
The maid reached Paoli's study, used a pre-prepared key to unlock the door, then entered and retrieved her tools, beginning to set fires throughout the room...
At two in the morning, Paoli was jolted awake by the shrill screams of a woman.
He rubbed his bleary eyes, dimly hearing the servants cry out, "Fire!"
"Quick, put out the fire!"
Immediately afterward, the butler vigorously pounded on his door, his voice laced with anxiety. "Master, there's a fire! You and your wife must get out and take shelter at once!"
Paoli sprang from his bed, snatched his dressing gown, and rushed out of the bedroom. He immediately smelled the acrid scent of smoke. Looking up, he saw thick plumes rising from the staircase leading to the second floor, with servants frantically running up and down, lugging buckets of water.
The three high-ranking Restoration Organization members staying in the guest rooms were also startled awake. They exchanged a look with Paoli, and simultaneously gasped, "The money!"
The men immediately made to rush towards the blazing second floor, but the butler quickly had people firmly restrain them.
Two and a half hours later, with the combined efforts of the servants and the London fire brigade, the blaze was finally extinguished.
Paoli and the others, disregarding the lingering smoke, scrambled upstairs like madmen, only to halt dead in their tracks. Half the rooms on the second floor, including the study, were charred black.
Paoli coughed as he stepped into the study, his gaze falling upon the safe, which had been completely burned through. Safes of that era were often constructed from iron sheeting wrapped around wood, the solid iron models familiar to later generations wouldn't appear until the 19th century. Inside, only a charred, shapeless mass remained.
One of the men beside him stepped forward, carefully extracting the contents from the safe. He could still faintly discern the shapes of charred paper fragments. His face turned ashen. "Damn it," he muttered, "this was twenty-five thousand Pounds Sterling..."
...
More than ten days later, at a secret meeting of the Corsican Restoration Organization, Bartorio pounded the table, roaring in frustration. "We had hoped to secure over two-thirds of the parliamentary seats! All ruined by that damn fire!"
He was one of the three men who had personally witnessed twenty-five thousand Pounds Sterling burn to ashes that day.
The others in the room also wore grim expressions. They had all learned that the Scottish magnate had originally provided them with a substantial sum, enough for each person to receive nearly a thousand Pounds Sterling, or over twenty thousand Livre.
Now, thanks to an unforeseen mishap, it was all gone.
Suddenly, someone spoke up. "Mr. Bartorio," a voice inquired, "how did the fire start so suddenly?"
"I'm not entirely sure myself. The fire brigade suggested it might have been rats."
Silence descended upon the room once more.
Then, Giuseppe, one of the organization's high-ranking members, clapped his hands. "Everyone, let's pull yourselves together. Mr. Paoli has sent instructions to organize an uprising in Cargèse, and we must discuss the matter now."
Concurrently, an American lawyer arrived in London and rapped on the door of Paoli's residence.
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