The rest of the men aboard were the personal servants of the Comte and his friends together with several young clerks from Leo’s office, all of whom were deeply grateful for the privilege of escaping with him when they might have been imprisoned or forced to work for their conquerors.
In the next two days while they were at sea Grania learned it was not only a busy ship but a happy one.
From first thing in the morning until last thing at night the crew sang, whistled and laughed amongst themselves as they worked.
None of the men were trained seamen, and the mere running of the ship required not only all their intelligence, but the use of muscles they had not employed before.
It appeared to Grania as if they made it a game, and she would lean over the rail of the poop-deck watching them, listening to them singing and cracking jokes with each other, and often tossing a coin to decide who would climb the tall raking spars to trim the sails.
She noticed that even amongst his friends the Comte appeared always to be in command, always the leader.
She had the feeling, and was sure she was not wrong that they trusted him just as she did. He gave them a sense of safety, and without him they too would have been afraid.
She had thought when she went aboard the ship that she would be alone with the Comte, but this was something that did not happen.
Always there seemed to be so much for him to do, always too he appeared to be looking out for danger.
Whenever the look-out reported a ship on the horizon they made off in another direction, and Grania was not certain at first whether this was something he would have done if she had not been on board.
She had also thought that they would have meals together, but she learned that the Comte’s three friends always had dinner with him and when they were at sea luncheon was a meal through which everybody went on working.
Henri the Chef prepared cups of soup which the men drank as they performed their duties. There was also cheese or pate, placed between long pieces of French bread, sliced horizontally.
Grania ate like the others, either on deck or, when she was tired of the sunshine, alone in her cabin while she read a book.
She found the Comte’s books not only interesting but also intriguing.
She had guessed that he would enjoy Rousseau and Voltaire, but she had not expected that he would have a large collection of poetry books, and English poetry at that, or that he would also have several religious books on the shelves.
“I suppose he is a Catholic,” she said to herself.
Perhaps it was due to the air or the movement of the ship, or maybe because she was content and happy, that Grania slept in the Comte’s bed deeply and dreamlessly, as if she was a child, to wake with a feeling of excitement because it was the beginning of another day.
Then late one afternoon, after the heat was over they came in sight of St. Martin.
At dinner the previous night the Comte and his friends had told Grania that the smallest territory in the world was shared by two sovereign states.
“Why?” Grania had asked.
Leo, who was the Lawyer, laughed.
“According to legend,” he said, “the Dutch and the French prisoners of war who had been brought to the island in 1648 to destroy the Spanish Fort and buildings came from their hiding-places after the Spanish had been routed and realised they had an island to share.”
“By peaceful means,” Jacques interposed.
“They had had enough of fighting,” the Comte added, “and so the boundaries were decided by a walking contest.”
Grania laughed.
“How can they have done that?”
“A Frenchman and a Dutchman,” Leo explained, “started at the same spot and walked around the island in opposite directions, having agreed that the boundary line should be drawn straight across the island where they met.”
“What a wonderful idea,” Grania cried. “Why can they not do something so simple on the other islands?”
“Because the others are much larger,” Leo replied.
“The Frenchman’s walking-pace was stimulated by wine, so that he went faster than the Dutchman who was actually slowed down because he preferred his own Dutch gin.”
All the men laughed, but Leo said:
“Whatever the origin of the boundary, the French and Dutch have lived in harmony ever since.”
“That is what I call very, very sensible,” Grania said. For the first time since she had come aboard the Comte stayed behind after his three friends had left the cabin. Grania looked at him enquiringly and he said:
“I have something to suggest to you, but I am rather afraid you will not like it.”
“What is it?” Grania asked apprehensively.
The Comte did not answer for a moment, and she realised he was looking at her hair.
“Is ... anything wrong?”
“I was just thinking how beautiful you are,” he said, “and it would certainly be wrong for me to change you in any way, but it is something which I think is important.”
“What is?”
“I have to think of you,” the Comte said, “and not only your safety but also your reputation.”
“In what way?”
“When we arrive at St. Martin, even though my house is very isolated you can well imagine that in the space of only twenty-one square miles everything is known and gossiped about.”
Grania nodded.
“That is why I think you must change your identity.”
“You mean ... I must not be ... English?”
“The French, even in St. Martin, are very patriotic.”
“Then can I be French, like you?”
“That is of course what I would like you to be,” the Comte replied, “and I thought I could introduce you as my cousin, Mademoiselle Gabrielle de Vence.”
“I shall be delighted to be your cousin.”
“There is one difficulty.”
“What is that?”
“You do not look in the least French, but, if I may say so, very English.”
I always thought that my eye-lashes, which are dark, I owe to my Irish ancestry.”
“But your hair which is like sunshine is as obvious as any Union Jack.”
Grania laughed.
“I think I am insulted that you should think it is red, white and blue!”
“What I am suggesting is that it should be a different colour,” the Comte said quietly.
She looked at him in astonishment.
“Are you asking me to ... dye my hair?”
“I have talked to Henri,” he said, “and he has distilled what he calls ‘a rinse’ which is easily washed out when you wish to revert to your own nationality.” Grania looked doubtful, but the Comte went on:
“I promise you it is not black or anything unpleasant. It will just change the shining gold of your hair to something a little more ordinary, the colour that a Frenchwoman could easily own, although she would never, I am afraid, have a skin so clean and soft that it is like the petals of a camelia.”
Grania gave a little smile.
“That sounds very poetic.”
“I find it very difficult not to be when I am talking to you. At the same time, Grania, as you have pointed out before, the French are sensible and realistic, and that is what we both must be.”
“Yes ... of course,” she agreed.
But she was reluctant to dye her hair, feeling that perhaps she would not look so attractive in the Comte's eyes.
Henri came to the cabin to explain to her what she must do, and first of all he dipped a tress of her hair in a liquid he had in a jug and she saw that it took away the gold and darkened it considerably.
“No, no! I cannot do it!” she exclaimed.
He put down the small jug and brought another one filled with fresh water, and dipping her hair once again he swirled it round then held it up.
The brown had vanished.
“That is very clever of you, Henri!” Grania cried
.
“It is a very good dye,” Henri said with delight. “When there is no more war I will put it on the market and make my fortune!”
“I am sure you will”
Henri explained to her that if they used a walnut dye, or even one distilled from nutmegs, it would take months to remove, and the hair would have to grow out before she was absolutely free of it.
“This is different,” he said proudly, “and one day, you see, M’mselle, everyone in Paris will be asking for ‘Henri’s Quick-Change Colour’!”
Grania laughed.
“I am delighted, Henri, to be the first to try it.” Henri brought a basin and towel and dyed her hair for her.
When she looked at herself in a much larger mirror than she had used before, she thought at first she looked like a stranger and one she did not particularly admire.
Then she knew that if her skin had seemed white before, now it glowed like a petal, and in a way she thought that the darkness of her hair made her look intriguing and perhaps a little mysterious.
She came on deck the next morning somewhat self-consciously, but the Comte’s friends had no inhibitions.
They complimented her so vociferously that she blushed and ran away from them! When she reached the Comte who once again was at the steering-wheel he smiled and said:
“I see I have a very pretty new relative! You will certainly embellish the annals of the Comtes de Vence!”
“I was afraid you might be ashamed of me.”
He merely smiled at her and there was a look in his eyes which told her far better than words that she had not lost his admiration which was all she wanted to know.
She stayed beside him and soon he realised that she wanted him to show her how to steer the ship.
It was not so much the excitement of doing something that gave her a feeling of power, but that to make certain she did it properly he stood behind her at the wheel putting his hands on the spokes above hers.
She could feel the closeness of his body and felt as they looked out towards the horizon that they were sailing over the edge of the world and the past was left behind them.
It was only when the Comte had walked away from her that she suddenly felt alone.
She had been so happy these past days and she was afraid when they reached St. Martin that things would change.
She was watching him on the deck below and for a moment she lost control of the wheel and the ship keeled over in the breeze.
Instantly one of the men came to help set it to rights.
She gave the wheel to him and walked onto the deck to follow the Comte.
It was then she knew quite suddenly that she wanted to be near him, that she wanted to feel him close to her and that it was an agony when he was away.
“What is the matter with me?” she asked herself. “How can I feel like this?”
Then she knew the answer.
It was as if it was being fired at her in an explosion from one of the cannons which stood along the sides of the deck.
She was in love!
In love with a man she had known only for a few days; a man who meant safety and security to her, but was in fact a pirate, an exile, a man with a price on his head, outlawed not only by the English, but also by the French.
“I love him whatever he is!” Grania told her heart. Because she could not bear to be away from him for one moment longer she went to his side.
CHAPTER SIX
GRANIA SAW THAT St. Martin was not as beautiful as Grenada with its mountains and its tropical vegetation, but it was certainly very attractive with its golden beaches.
She had also noticed as they sailed alongside the island many small attractive bays.
They dropped anchor, and although she realised it was not as secluded as Secret Harbour it was nevertheless a good place for a pirate ship to hide.
While the crew were busy furling the sails the Comte took Grania ashore and they walked a little way up the low cliffs until in front of them she saw a very attractive house.
It was quite small but resembled the older plantation houses in Grenada and had the usual verandah over which vines were growing profusely.
The Comte did not say anything and she wondered if she should tell him how pretty she thought the house looked, but she felt he was thinking of his real home in Martinique and wishing they were there.
He opened the door with a key. Then as they walked through a small hall into a Sitting-Room at one side of it, she gave an exclamation of surprise.
The room was furnished with exquisite inlaid French furniture including some very fine marble-topped commodes with gilt handles and beautiful embellished feet.
On the walls were portraits which she knew without being told were of the Comtes ancestors, and guessed these were the possessions he had brought to safety from his house in Martinique.
There were also many china ornaments, among which she recognised some pieces of Sevres, while on the floor was laid a very fine Aubusson carpet.
“So this is where you hid your treasures!” she exclaimed.
“At least they should be safe here,” he answered.
“I am so very, very glad you were able to bring them away.”
She wanted to go round looking at the pictures and at the china, but the Comte said in a very different voice: “I want to talk to you, Grania, so please listen to me.” She looked up at him enquiringly and he went on: “You came to me for protection, and that is what I want to give you. I am going now to find the woman who looks after this house in my absence and ask her if she will come here to sleep.”
“But ... why?” Grania asked. “And ... where will ... you be?”
“You must be aware that it would be quite wrong for me to stay here with you,” the Comte replied. “I shall sleep in the ship with my crew and there will be nothing to frighten you.”
Grania said nothing and after a moment he went on: “I do not have to tell you that you must play your part of being a Frenchwoman at all times, and to do so you must speak French, think French and to all intents and purposes be French.”
“I will try,” Grania said in a low voice, “but I thought now we were here we could be ... together.”
She spoke pleadingly, but to her surprise the Comte was not looking at her, but had turned his face away and she had the feeling he was going to say that was impossible.
Then at that moment there was a sudden shout from the front of the house, and the next minute they heard footsteps running across the verandah and Jean came bursting into the room.
“Vite—vite! Monsieur!” he said urgently. “Un bateau en vue!”
He pointed as he spoke in the direction of the sea.
“Stay here!” the Comte said abruptly to Grania.
Then he had gone from the house, closing the door behind him.
She went to the window to see him running towards the cliffs and Jean just ahead of him.
When he had gone she stood looking out and although she could see nothing, she was frightened there was danger, and she wished she was with the Comte and not left behind.
To see a ship at sea, she knew, always spelt danger for him, and she had been well aware how all the way from Grenada the Comte had a look-out posted on the mast, and at the first indication that there was another ship in sight had immediately changed course.
She wondered if they had been seen coming into the bay, or perhaps it was an English Man o’ War intent on invading St. Martin.
The Comte and his friends had been quite certain this would not happen, but there was always the chance that the English would change their minds and wish to add to their conquests amongst the islands.
It was all very perturbing and although Grania stood for a long time at the window hoping she could see some sign of their own ship or the one Jean had come to warn them about, there was only the blue horizon.
It grew more and more indistinct as the afternoon merged into evening and the sun began to sink.
She wanted to go
to the top of the cliffs to see what was happening, but the Comte had told her to stay where she was and because she loved him she wished to obey him.
After a little while she started to look around the small house, but it was hard to concentrate on anything but the fact that the Comte might be in danger, and she would not know what was happening.
Slowly she went upstairs and found one large important bedroom which she knew must be his, and several others.
They were all beautifully furnished, but the Comte’s bedroom had a magnificent French bed with curtains falling from a gold corola.
She knew he must have brought it here from Martinique and she admired the painted dressing-table which was more suited to a woman than to a man.
There were small commodes on either side of the bed which she thought were the work of one of the great French craftsmen, and the pictures which were not of his ancestors were she realized painted by Boucher.
It was all so lovely that she thought it was a room for love, then blushed at her own thoughts.
She moved restlessly about until she went downstairs again to discover a small Dining-Room with more of the Comte’s ancestors on the walls and a kitchen which she was sure must delight Henri.
There was also a small room lined with books, and she told herself that at least here she would have plenty to read.
She had however, no wish to read at the moment. All she wanted was to be with the Comte and again she went to the window, frightened because he was away for so long.
Now the sun was sinking in a blaze of glory and when the last crimson light disappeared night came swiftly.
Although the stars were coming out one by one and a new moon was climbing up the sky Grania thought she was encompassed by the darkness of despair and was afraid she would never see the Comte again.
Supposing he had sailed out to sea to investigate the enemy ship, and there had been a battle? Supposing he had been defeated and was either drowned or taken prisoner?
She did not know what would happen to her if she was never to see him again.
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