The Comte put his cheek against hers.
“I adore you, my lovely one,” he said, “and I am not going to argue because, as you said, it is your fault that we shall have to settle down and behave like respectable Frenchmen. But before we sell the ship, which will undoubtedly fetch a very good price, you must sail back to Grenada to tell your father of the death of your cousin, and also to see that he himself is safe.”
“Can we do that?” Grania asked. “I am worried about Papa, especially when he is with Mr. Maigrin.”
“We will go together because it is the right thing to do. I also think your father should know that his daughter is married, although he will perhaps not be very pleased that it is to a Frenchman.”
Grania gave a little laugh.
“My father will not mind that. You must remember he is Irish, and the Irish have never liked the English.”
The Comte laughed too.
“I had forgotten that! So if your father will tolerate me as a son-in-law perhaps when things are better than they are at the moment he will be able to come and stay with us in St. Martin and you will be able to go and stay in Grenada.”
“It is kind of you to think like that,” Grania said, “because I feel in a way I ought to look after Papa.”
She knew as she spoke it was only a day-dream, for as long as her father persisted in his friendship with Roderick Maigrin it was impossible for them to be together.
She was quite certain that if Maigrin learnt that she was married to a Frenchman he would try to destroy the Comte either by shooting him as an enemy, or having him pursued and persecuted by the English.
Yet she must have news of her father, and perhaps if he was still at Maigrin House she would on some pretext or other be able to inveigle him to Secret Harbour.
There she could at least say goodbye to him before she returned to live at St. Martin.
Then it flashed through her mind how fine the Comte was once again to anticipate her wishes almost before she had thought of them herself.
Because she wanted so desperately to kiss him she could only move closer into his arms and feel his lips seeking hers.
Grania was awake very early because she was so excited and also because she heard movements downstairs and knew that Jean or Henri were already up and about.
Then she thought of the room next door where the Priest’s Housekeeper, an elderly woman with a kind face, was sleeping.
She had arrived last night carrying a lantern to light her way through the rough land which lay just behind the house.
“I am delighted to meet you, M’mselle,” she had said to Grania. “Father Francois sends you his blessing and is looking forward to marrying you to Monsieur le Comte at nine-thirty tomorrow morning.”
“Merci, Madame,” Grania replied, “and thank you too for coming here tonight to keep me company. It was very kind of you.”
“We all have to do what we can for those who have been stricken by the cruelties of war.”
The Comte said goodnight, as the Housekeeper was there, and kissed Grania’s hands before he returned to the ship.
When he had gone the Housekeeper said:
“That’s a fine man and a very good Catholic, M’mselle. You’re very fortunate to have such a man for your husband.”
“Very fortunate indeed, Madame,” Grania agreed, “and I am very grateful.”
“I shall pray for you both,” the Housekeeper said, “and I know le Bon Dieu will give you great happiness.”
Grania was certain that was true, and she lay awake in the beautiful bed with its gold corola thinking how wonderfully lucky she was and feeling that her mother knew of her happiness.
“How could I have known ... how could I have guessed that I would be ... saved at the ... last moment from that terrible Mr. Maigrin?” Grania asked.
Then once again she was praying disjointed prayers of gratitude, disjointed because even to pray about the Comte made her feel again the rapture and the ecstasy he evoked in her when he kissed her and made her aware of strange feelings that were different from anything she had ever known before.
Then finally when she fell asleep it was to feel that God was watching over her and making tomorrow come quickly.
As the sunshine filled the room Grania thought it was an omen of what her life would be like in the future.
Outside birds were singing and the vivid colours of the bougainvillaea in the garden vied with that of the vine climbing over the verandah and the emerald of the sea against the horizon all seemed part of a dream.
But it is true ... really true!” Grania cried, and knew this was her wedding day.
She did not have a wedding-dress, but amongst the things her mother had bought for her there was a gown specially to wear when she was presented at Court.
It was white, which was correct for a Debutante, and it had been delivered after her mother had died.
Grania had in fact debated whether she should try to sell it back to the dressmaker because she felt she would never have a use for it.
Then she thought it would be humiliating to say that she not only would be unable to wear it, but could not really afford to pay for it. So she reluctantly handed over the money and had brought it out with her to Grenada.
As she drew it out from the trunk she knew that while it was a trifle over-elaborate it would be suitable for a bride, and perhaps would make her look beautiful for the Comte.
She had no veil and when she explained this to the Housekeeper who had come into her room to help her dress, the woman had sent Jean hastily to the Priest’s house.
“We have a veil which we sometimes lend to young brides,” she said, “if they arrive at the Church with only a wreath on their heads and Father Francois does not consider that respectable enough in the House of God.”
“I should be very happy if I could borrow it,” Grania replied.
“It will be a pleasure!” the Housekeeper said. “And I will make you a wreath which will be far prettier than anything you could buy.”
She sent Henri hurrying into the garden and when he came back with a basket full of white flowers, she had sat in Grania’s bedroom arranging them skilfully in the form of a wreath.
When she had finished nothing could have been prettier than the fresh white flowers with their green leaves which were more becoming than any artificial wreath could ever have been.
The veil was of very fine lace and fell over Grania’s shoulders, giving her an ethereal appearance, and when the wreath was arranged over it the Housekeeper stood back to survey her work and said in awe-struck tones: “You make a very beautiful bride, M’mselle. No man could fail to appreciate such a lovely wife.”
“I hope you are right,” Grania said simply.
When she went downstairs to the Sitting-Room where the Comte was waiting she knew by the expression on his face that she was everything he had expected, and more.
He looked at her for a long moment before he said very quietly:
“I did not believe anyone could be so beautiful.”
She smiled at him through her veil.
“I love you!”
“I will be able to tell you later how much I love you,” he answered, “but now I dare not touch you. I only want to go down on my knees and light candles to you, for I not only love you, but worship you.”
“You must not ... say such things,” Grania protested. “It makes me ... afraid that I am not ... good enough.”
He smiled as if she was being absurd. Then he kissed her hand before he said:
“Our carriage is waiting at the back of the house. Because the crew did not think the horses pulling it were fine enough, they themselves are going to draw us to the Church.”
Grania gave an exclamation of surprise and when she walked outside she saw that the light open carriage was horse-less while the shafts were ready to be pulled by all the young members of the crew.
The carriage itself had been decorated with the same white flowers that had made h
er wreath, and there was also a bouquet of them on the seat.
As they moved away Grania thought that it was just the sort of fairy-tale wedding that she wanted to have.
The Comte held her hand tightly in his as they were pulled down a narrow road which led to the small village.
It consisted only of a few West Indian “ginger-bread” houses with wrought-iron balconies.
They were built on the edge of the sea and inland behind them Grania could see several steep hills forming a very lovely view.
The small ancient Church was full and, as the Priest met them at the door and led them inside, the Comte’s friends and all those who had not been pulling the carriage were waiting to watch the marriage take place.
To Grania it was a very moving service and she felt as if the fragrant incense rising towards the roof carried their prayers up to God and that He Himself blessed them and their love for each other.
She was very conscious of the wedding-ring on her finger, but more than anything else of the Comte kneeling beside her and his voice repeating his vows with an unmistakable sincerity.
Last night she had said to him a little nervously:
“If I am to be ... married as your ... cousin will it be ... legal?”
“I thought you might ask that question,” he said. “As you know we shall only be called by our Christian names, and therefore I have already told the Priest that you were Christened ‘Teresa Grania’.”
“I thought I was to be ‘Gabrielle’?”
“I thought Gabrielle Grania sounded too much of a mouthful,” the Comte replied, and they both laughed.
“Teresa is a very pretty name, and I am quite content with it,” Grania said.
She found out at the Service that her husband had other names, when as he repeated his vows he said:
“I Beaufort Francis Louis.”
When they left the little Church and were drawn back in their carriage to their own house, Grania could think of nothing except the man beside her and the words of love that he whispered in her ear.
Then they were joined by everybody who had watched the ceremony, and some friends too who lived on the island. There was wine in which to drink their health and food which Grania was sure Henri must have spent most of the night preparing.
It was all very happy and gay, with a laughter that seemed part of the sunshine.
Then at last somewhat reluctantly the people began to leave.
First the friends who lived on the island, then the Priest and his housekeeper, and finally when it was time for siesta the crew said they must go back to the ship.
It was then Grania realised that she was alone with her husband, and she turned to look at him, raising her face to his.
“I think,” he said, “we would both be more comfortable if we had our siesta without being encumbered by our smart clothes, and I am very much afraid of spoiling that beautiful gown.”
“It was meant to be worn at Buckingham Palace, Grania replied, “but it is much, much more appropriate that I should wear it on the day I was married to you.”
“I agree with you,” the Comte smiled. “Why should we worry about Kings and Queens when we have each other?”
He drew her up the stairs and when they reached the bedroom Grania realised that somebody, she expected it was Jean, had lowered the sunblinds so that the room was cool and dim.
It was fragrant with flowers which Jean must have arranged for them when they came back from the Church, and they stood in great vases on the dressing-table and on either side of the bed.
“My bride!” the Comte said very softly.
Then he took the wreath from her head and lifted the veil. He looked at her for a long moment before he took her in his arms.
“You are real!” he said almost as if he spoke to himself. “When I was marrying you I was half afraid that you were a goddess who had come down from the top of one of the mountains or a nymph from a cascade.”
“I am ... real,” Grania whispered, “but I feel like you that this is all a dream.”
“If it is,” the Comte said, “then let us go on dreaming!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
GRANIA AWOKE AND felt her heart was singing like the birds outside the window, and she looked adoringly towards the Comte sleeping beside her.
She knew that every day and every night she spent with him she loved him more.
But today was special because they were leaving for Grenada.
They had been married for over three weeks and yesterday the Comte had said:
“I think, my darling, we must take our last trip in the ship before I sell it.”
Grania looked at him in a startled manner and he had explained:
“I intend to sell the ship first. That will give all the crew and myself enough money for us to look around and plan our futures. After that, if no one is settled, other things will have to go.”
The way he spoke of “other things” told Grania how much he minded the thought of having to part with his pictures and treasures which she had learned had been collected by his ancestors over many centuries.
“They were so fortunate that they were able to bring them away from France, before the Revolution,” he had said. “Otherwise everything we owned would either have been confiscated or burnt by the peasants.”
There was a little silence and Grania knew that he was thinking he would have liked to keep them intact for his eldest son, but that would not be impossible.
She moved away from him to say after a moment: “Sometimes I feel I should have left you ... roaming the sea as a ... pirate.”
The Comte laughed and it had swept the expression of regret from his eyes.
“My darling, do you think I would really want to be a pirate if it meant I had to leave you? I am so happy that I thank God every day that we are together and you are my wife. At the same time we have to live.”
“Yes, I know that,” Grania said, “but ...”
To keep her from apologising any further he kissed her and the rapture and wonder of it took everything else out of her mind.
Now knowing the ship was for sale, she prayed that it would fetch enough money for it to be a very, very long time before the Comte had to sell anything else.
She knew also that he was right in saying that before they were marooned on St. Martin with no means of getting away she must find out how her father was and if possible tell him of her marriage.
Because it meant leaving even for a little while, the Comte’s small house and the happiness she had found there, she pressed herself against him.
He awoke and without opening his eyes he put his arms around her to hold her close, and she said:
“We will not take any risks, will we? If it is not safe to go ashore at Grenada, you will turn back?”
The Comte looked at her.
“You do not think, my adorable wonderful little wife, that I would take you anywhere where there was danger? I promise that if Abe’s white flag does not tell us everything is safe we will turn back immediately.”
“That is all I want to know,” Grania said. “If anything should happen to you now I would want ... to die!”
“Do not talk of dying,” he answered. “You are going to live, and we will see our children and our grandchildren running the plantations at Martinique before we either of us leave each other or this earth.”
He spoke prophetically and Grania put her arm round his neck to draw his lips close to hers.
“How can I tell you how much I love you?” she asked.
“Like this!”
Then he was kissing her, his heart was beating against hers, and as she felt the fire rising in him she knew the flames he evoked were rising in her too.
Then it seemed to Grania there was the music of the angels and a celestial light which covered them like the blessing of God, and they were one... .
The sea was vividly blue and emerald, the sky was dazzling with the sunshine, and as the sails billowed out in the breeze the s
hip seemed to be skimming over the smooth water rather than sailing through it.
The crew were whistling and singing as they worked and Grania had the feeling that like the Comte they were content to give up the risky, dangerous life of piracy and return to what he called “respectability”.
Every night over dinner they talked of what they could do.
“It is a pity there are not more people on St. Martin and that there is no crime,” Leo said, “otherwise they would need my services.”
“No crime?” Grania questioned.
He shook his head.
“If anybody stole how could they get away with the spoils? And everyone is so good-natured that nobody wants to murder anyone.”
“It seems a waste of your intelligence,” the Comte said, “but when we get home I am sure there will be hundreds of cases waiting for you to deal with them.”
They always talked optimistically of the time when they would return to Martinique, and the clerks who had worked in Leo’s office were, Grania knew, studying in the evenings so that they would not be behind in preparation for their Examinations however long they had to wait before they took them.
She had by now a real affection for the three men who were so close to her husband, and she also found that the rest of the crew not only admired her but sought her help with their problems and wanted to talk to her about their future.
“I am sure every woman in the world would envy me if they knew I had so many delightful men all to myself,” Grania said to the Comte.
“You belong to me, ma petite, and if I find you so much as looking at another man, you will find I am very jealous!”
She pressed herself nearer to him as she said:
“You know I could never look at anybody but you. I love you so much that sometimes I am afraid you will be bored with my telling you so and go in search of somebody less predictable.”
“I want your love,” he said, “and you do not love me yet half as much as I intend you to do.”
He had then kissed her fiercely and demandingly as if he would force her to realise how much he needed her.
Secret Harbor Page 12