'What does he mean?' Marianne asked uneasily, when the senator had concluded his somewhat halting but adequate translation.
Alamano spread out his arms in a gesture of ignorance.
'My dear Princess, I assure you I have not the least idea. That kind of phraseology is typical of oriental politeness. Chahin Bey means, I take it, that he will no more forget you than he will forget his own lost people.'
Maddalena, who had been following the reading of the letter with a good deal of interest, put down the big fan of woven reeds with which she had been trying to mitigate the heat and smiled at her new friend.
'Unless he is declaring his intention of offering you his hand as soon as he has recovered his domains? It would be quite in keeping with his romantically chivalrous nature. My dear, that boy fell head over ears in love as soon as he set eyes on you!'
What Chahin Bey actually meant was not made plain until that evening, with the arrival of Jason Beaufort, white with rage. He stormed on to the terrace where the two women were stretched in long chairs taking some refreshments and watching the sunset and it was all he could do to remember the ordinary observances of civility due to his hostess. As he made his bow to Maddalena, Marianne could tell from the frowning glance he cast in her direction that he had something to say.
The usual polite exchanges took place in an atmosphere so charged with electricity that Countess Alamano could not fail to notice it, and she took the first opportunity to excuse herself gracefully, on the score of being obliged to speak to her cook, realizing that the other two wished to be private together.
Almost before her dress of lilac muslin had vanished through the french window leading into the house, Jason turned on Marianne and accused her roundly:
'What were you doing down on the beach last night with that crazy Turk?'
'Good God!' Marianne exclaimed faintly, subsiding despairingly on to her cushions. The gossip on this island flies faster than in Paris!'
'This isn't gossip. Your admirer – there is no other word for the fellow – came on board just now and told me that you saved his life last night in circumstances which are to say the least obscure – as obscure as the jargon he talks!'
'But why should he go and tell you that?' Marianne said, mystified.
'Ha! You admit it, then?'
'Admit what? I have nothing to admit. Nothing that signifies, at least. It's true I did happen to save the life of a Turkish refugee last night, quite by chance. It was so hot that I could not bear to stay in my room and I went down to the beach for a breath of fresh air. At that hour of night I thought I should be quite alone there—'
'So much so that you thought you could bathe. You took off your clothes – all your clothes?'
'Oh, so you know that, too?'
'Of course. I gather the memory of it kept your exotic swain awake all night. He saw you emerge from the sea in the moonlight, as naked as Aphrodite, it seems, and by far more beautiful! What have you to say to that?'
'Nothing!' Marianne cried, stung by Jason's accusing tone, especially as she was beginning to feel slightly more guilty and a trifle less nostalgic about the passionate scene of the previous night. 'It's quite true I took my clothes off. My goodness, what's wrong with that? You're a sailor yourself. Don't tell me you never swam in the sea? Would you put on a dressing-gown and slippers and a nightcap to get into the water?'
'I'm a man,' Jason snapped. 'It's not the same.'
'I know!' Marianne flashed bitterly. 'You are creatures apart, demi-gods to whom all is permitted, while we poor females are only allowed to enjoy the water all bundled up in shawls and overcoats! The hypocrisy of it! When I think that in the days of King Henry IV the women used to bathe stark naked in the middle of Paris in broad daylight, right below the Pont Neuf, and no one thought a penny the worse! And now I'm committing a crime because I try to forget the heat for a little while on a dark night on an empty beach on what is practically a desert island! Well, I was wrong and I'm sorry. Will that do?'
Something of the venom in her tone must have penetrated, because Jason stopped striding up and down the terrace, hands behind his back, much as he was used to do on his own deck, although rather more furiously and came instead to stand before Marianne. He looked at her for a moment and then said on a note of vague surprise:
'You're angry?'
She stared up at him with flashing eyes.
'Is that wrong of me, as well? You come here steaming with rage, you rant at me, determined to find me guilty, and then when I object you are surprised! You always make me feel halfway between a hysterical bacchante and the village idiot!'
The privateer's set face relaxed for an instant into a fleeting smile. He held out his hands and plucked her from her cushions, drawing her up to stand within the circle of his arms.
'Forgive me. I know I've been behaving like a brute again, but I can't help it. As soon as it is anything to do with you, I see red. When that blundering idiot came along, all smiles, and told me about your exploit, incidentally describing how he'd seen you coming out of the water all glistening in the moonlight, I very nearly throttled him.'
'Only nearly?' Marianne said nastily.
This time Jason laughed outright and held her closer.
'Are you sorry? If it hadn't been for Kaleb – you remember the runaway slave I found – who got him away from me, I'd have done Ali Pasha's work for him after all.'
'The Ethiopian?' Marianne said thoughtfully. 'Did he dare to come between you?'
'He was at work on the planking close by, and on the whole, just as well,' Jason said indifferently. 'Your Chahin Bey was squealing like a stuck pig and people were beginning to notice.'
'He's not my Chahin Bey!' Marianne broke in with annoyance. 'And you still haven't explained what made him go off and tell all this to you, of all people?'
'Didn't I tell you? For the simple reason, my angel, that having made up his mind to go with us to Constantinople he came to ask me to take him on board with his household.'
'What? He wants—'
'To go with you, yes, my darling. The boy seems to know what he wants. His plans for the future are quite cut and dried: to go to Constantinople and complain to the Grand Signior of the wrongs done to himself and his people by Ali Pasha, then set off home with an army – oh, and yourself – and when he has reconquered his province to offer you the position of first wife to the new Pasha of Delvino.'
'And – and you agreed?' Marianne cried, appalled at the idea of trailing the young Turk after her for weeks to come.
'Agreed? I told you, I nearly strangled him. After Kaleb got him away from me, I told him to see him ashore, and I informed your admirer that under no circumstances would I have him set foot on board my ship again. I've no use for would-be pashas. For one thing I didn't like him, and for another I'm beginning to think there are a deal too many people aboard the Witch as it is. You don't know how much I long to be alone with you, my love… Just you and me, the two of us, day and night. I think I must have been mad to think I could ever part from you! Ever since Venice, I've gone through hell, just wanting you. But that's all over now. We sail tomorrow—'
'Tomorrow?'
'Yes. The repairs are almost done. By working all night we'll be able to leave in the morning. I'm not leaving you here much longer, not with that besotted ape on your doorstep. Tomorrow I'll take you away. Tomorrow our new life will begin. I'll do anything you want – only for pity's sake don't let's hang about in Turkey! I can't wait to get you home – to our home. Only there will I be able to love you as I want to… and I do want to, so very much.'
As he spoke, Jason's voice had dropped until it was no more than a deep, passionate murmur, punctuated by kisses.
Around them, dusk was falling and the glow worm lights were springing up about the garden. Yet to Marianne, in the arms of the man she loved, there came, oddly enough, none of the joy she would have imagined, only a few minutes earlier, from such a signal victory. Jason was surrendering, he was ad
mitting defeat: she ought to have been wild with delight. But while her heart melted with love and gladness, her body had no share in it. In fact, she was not feeling at all well. She had the impression she was going to faint, as she had the other day, getting off the boat… Perhaps it was the faint tobacco smell that clung to Jason's clothes, but she was almost sure that she was going to be sick…
He felt her slump suddenly and start to slip from his arms. He caught her just in time. In the last glimmer of daylight, her face was deathly pale.
'Marianne! What is it? Are you ill?'
As he spoke, he picked her up and laid her down gently in her nest of cushions, but this time Marianne had not lost consciousness altogether. Gradually, the dreadful sick feeling passed off and she managed to smile.
'It's nothing… the heat, I expect.'
'No, you are not well. This is the second time you've swooned like that. You must see a doctor.'
He stood up as though to go in search of Maddalena but Marianne clutched his arm and pulled him back.
'It's nothing, I tell you. I'm quite sure I don't need a doctor. I know what it is.'
'You do? Then what is it?'
She cast about desperately for a plausible lie and said at last with an assumed carelessness:
'Nothing – or almost nothing. It's just that my stomach is a little delicate these days. It's – it's since – since I was a prisoner.'
Jason studied the pale face for a moment, mechanically chafing her icy hands as he did so. He was clearly only half convinced. Marianne was not the kind of woman to faint for nothing, swooning over the scent of a flower or the slightest emotion. Something about it worried him. However, he had no time to ask further questions.
The sound of approaching footsteps evidently indicated the return of Maddalena. Marianne sat up quickly and, evading his instinctive move to prevent her, got to her feet.
'What are you doing?'
'Oh, please, don't say that I was ill. I hate to have people fuss over me. Maddalena would only worry, and then I should have to put up with her cosseting.'
Jason's protests were lost in the click of heels as the Countess reappeared, bearing an oil-lamp with a thick glass shade. Warm yellow light spilled over the terrace and gleamed on her red hair and gently teasing smile.
'Would you rather it were dark?' she said. 'But here come my husband and Monsieur de Jolival. We are just going to dine. You'll stay, of course, Captain?'
The American inclined his tall person in an apologetic bow.
'I'm truly sorry, Countess, but I must return to my ship. We sail tomorrow.'
'So soon?'
'My repair work is finished and we have to reach Constantinople as quickly as possible. It grieves me to be obliged to rob you of the Princess so soon, but the sooner we are there the better. The frigates that are to escort us have many other calls on their time. I should not wish to detain them too long. You will have to excuse me.
As though in haste, suddenly, to be gone, he said his farewells and bowed over the hands of both ladies, letting his blue gaze dwell for a moment, with a faintly troubled look, on Marianne's. Then he went away through the garden, just as the voices of Jolival and Alamano made themselves heard inside the house.
'A strange man,' Maddalena remarked, looking thoughtfully after the captain's tall figure as it vanished into the darkness. 'But certainly attractive! Perhaps, all things considered, it's just as well he's not staying here too long. Every woman on the island would be mad for him. There is something masterful about his eyes that suggests he doesn't take kindly to being crossed.'
'You're quite right,' Marianne said, her mind elsewhere. 'He hates to be contradicted.'
The Countess smiled. 'That wasn't altogether what I meant,' she said. 'Shall we join the gentlemen indoors?'
Jolival was the very person Marianne needed to see just at that moment. This second spell of faintness had seriously alarmed her, for if she were to have many more like it life on board ship promised to become almost impossible. Meanwhile, Arcadius had practically disappeared. She had scarcely seen him since the night of her arrival and that, too, had worried her because it was not a good sign.
She sat through dinner with her anxieties undiminished. Jolival looked tired. He was making an effort, visible only to those who knew him well, to respond to his hostess's bright conversation, but his light easy chatter was belied by the troubled look in his eyes.
'He's failed,' Marianne thought. 'He hasn't been able to find what I need. He wouldn't look like that if he had.'
Even Maddalena's witty account of Marianne's nocturnal adventures failed to smooth the lines of care wholly from his face.
When he came to her room for a few moments, before retiring to his own, Marianne learned that he had indeed drawn a complete blank.
'I did hear of an old Greek woman, some kind of witch who lived in a hut on the side of Mount Pantocrator, but when I managed to find the place at last, this afternoon, there was nothing but a few mourners and an aged papas about to conduct her funeral. But don't despair,' he added, quickly, seeing her face fall. 'Tomorrow I'll go back to the Venetian tavern where I got the information and—'
Marianne sighed wearily.
'It's no good, Jolival. We are leaving tomorrow morning. Didn't you know? Jason came just now to tell me. He's in a hurry to leave Corfu… largely, I think, on account of my ridiculous adventure with Chahin Bey.'
'He knows of that?'
'The idiot wanted to go with us. He went and told Jason the whole story.'
There was a silence, occupied on Jolival's part by restless fiddling with the crystal rose-bowl on the table.
'How do matters stand between you?'
In a few words, Marianne described their last encounter on the terrace and the manner in which it had ended.
'He gave in sooner than I expected,' was Jolival's comment when it was done. 'He loves you very deeply, Marianne, in spite of all his temper and his rudeness and his fits of jealousy… I wonder if you wouldn't be better advised to tell him the truth.'
'The truth? About my condition?'
'Yes. You are not well. I was watching you at dinner. You're pale and nervous and you scarcely ate a thing. You'll suffer dreadfully on board ship. And there's that doctor, Leighton. He never takes his eyes off you. I'm not sure why, but you've made an enemy there who'll stick at nothing to be rid of you.'
'How do you know?'
'Gracchus tipped me the wink. Your coachman, in case you didn't know it, is beginning to discover his vocation as a seaman. He lives with the crew and he's found a friend who can speak French. Leighton has a few supporters among them who are always grumbling at the presence of a woman on board. Besides, he's a doctor. He may discover the truth about your illness.'
'I thought doctors were bound to secrecy by the rules of their profession,' Marianne said bluntly.
'So they are, but as I said, this one hates you and I'd judge him capable of a good deal. Listen to me, Marianne. Tell Beaufort the truth. He is capable of understanding, I'm sure of it.'
'And what do you think he'll say? I can tell you. He won't believe me! I'd never dare to tell him such a thing straight out.'
Like Jason on the terrace, earlier that evening, Marianne was pacing up and down her room, kneading a tiny lace handkerchief between her hands. In imagination she was picturing the scene she had conjured up of herself facing Jason, telling him that she was pregnant by her steward. Enough to make him shun her like the plague!
'You, who are always so brave, are afraid to have it out?' Jolival reproached her softly.
'I'm afraid of losing the man I love for ever, Arcadius. Just as any woman in love would be.'
'How do you know you would lose him? I've told you, he loves you, and perhaps—'
'There, you see!' Marianne interrupted him with a little hysterical laugh. 'You said perhaps. Perhaps that's what I don't want to risk.'
'And suppose he finds out? Suppose he guesses somehow?'
'T
hen he does. Let's say I'd rather play all or nothing, if you like. In a little more than a week, if all goes well, we'll be in Constantinople. I'll do what's necessary there. Until then, I'll try and hold out.'
With a sigh of resignation, Jolival rose from his chair and went to Marianne. Taking her face between his hands, he deposited a fatherly kiss on the forehead which was set just now in an obstinate frown.
'You may be right,' he said. 'I've no right to compel you. But – I suppose you wouldn't, well, accept the notion of letting me deal with the explanations that frighten you so much? Jason likes and, I believe, respects me. I expect he would believe me.'
'He'd believe that you are very fond of me and would stand up for me at all costs – and that I had spun you an enormous yarn! No, Arcadius. I won't let you. But I thank you from the bottom of my heart.'
He bowed, smiling a little sadly, and went to his own room, while for Marianne there began a sleepless night haunted, paradoxically, by the shadow hanging over the days to come and by the strange sense of quietude left over from the night before. The sense of fulfilment which had come to her in that fantastic interlude, outside time and ordinary reality, was still strong enough to engender in her a kind of private exultation, free from any feelings of shame or false modesty. In the arms of her anonymous lover, she had experienced a moment of exceptional beauty, made beautiful by the very fact that she still did not know who he was.
The next day, as she leaned on the Witch's rail and watched the white houses and the old Venetian fortress of Corfu fade into the golden morning mist, she could not help giving one more thought to the man who was somewhere in that jumble of rock and tree, and who, it might be, would return sometimes to cast his nets or tie up his boat in that little inlet where, for one unknown Leda, he had been, for a little while, the embodiment of the ruler of the gods.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Cythera
For two days the Sea Witch sailed southwards, escorted by the Pauline and the Pomone. The three vessels negotiated the English possessions of Cephalonia and Zante without incident and followed the coastline of the Morea, standing far enough out to sea to avoid the pasha's flotillas.
[Marianne 4] - Marianne and the Rebels Page 23