Marianne m-1

by Жюльетта Бенцони

  She went over to the door just the same, though without conviction, and lifted the latch but let it go again immediately. Someone on the other side was stealthily turning the key in the lock. Marianne drew back instinctively as, without a sound, the door swung open. The tailor's pale face loomed out of the shadows.

  He put his finger quickly to his lips to still Marianne's exclamation of surprise.

  'Ssh! May I come in for a moment?'

  She beckoned silently, noticing that the odd little man spoke perfect French. He limped across to the panelled wall that concealed the cupboard bed and opened the doors. Then, having assured himself that they were empty, he turned back to Marianne who was watching him with astonishment.

  'On the right of the barn door,' he whispered, 'you will find a hole in the wall. That is where they keep the key—'

  'Thank you,' said Marianne, 'but how am I to get out of the house? Even my window is barred.'

  'Yours, yes, but not the others and, in particular, not that of the room where I work. It will be a tight fit, but you are not large, and the barn is just opposite.'

  There was a moment's silence. Marianne stared at the little hunchback in amazement. His small eyes were twinkling like stars and he seemed suddenly highly delighted.

  'Why are you doing this?' she asked. 'You know I mean to escape – and you are putting yourself in danger.'

  'Not at all. He will think that Madam Jealousy let you out. After all, who should notice a tailor – saving your presence? And for my reasons – say I like playing tricks on folk that are too cocksure – or that I have my own reasons for hating the Lord Morvan! Go, quickly—'

  'Thank you again – but I owe you my freedom—'

  'Not yet. I am not certain you will get away – or not unless you go alone.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Nothing. You will see. But whatever happens, I will come back before daylight and lock this door, whether you have returned or not. Then, all will be safe. And, take my advice and leave that light shawl behind. Even in the dark, you could be seen.'

  Letting fall the heavy lace, Marianne went quickly to one of the beds, stripped off a brown blanket and wrapped it closely round her. She was trembling with cold and excitement. She turned to Perinnaic again.

  'How can I thank you for what you are doing for me?'

  'Easily!' The smile on his face was replaced by a look of sudden ferocity. 'See to it that Morvan's head rolls and I shall be repaid a hundredfold!'

  Marianne repressed a shudder at the twisted hatred that showed in the hunchback's face.

  'I don't see how I can do that. I don't even know his face—'

  'Nor I. But he is absent very often and I know he goes to Paris. There, he must surely discard his mask. Try and find out who he is – and, if you succeed in sending him to the scaffold he has eluded for so long, then know you will have avenged countless unhappy souls! Go quickly now, I have talked too much and words are perilous.'

  Marianne glided swiftly out of the room. Periannaic had given her a taper in a crude holder to light her but she remembered the way to the kitchen perfectly and soon found herself in the big, still warm room. The fire was still alight and judging that this would give her light enough, Marianne put out her candle and left it on the overmantel. She made her way into the little room, climbed on the table and set about opening the window, praying to heaven that it would not creak too much. To her great relief, it opened easily. Marianne leaned out.

  It was a black night and the wind was blowing strongly but her eyes soon grew accustomed to it. Immediately facing her, she was able to make out a large squat building that could only be the barn. Quickly pushing out the encumbering blanket, she wriggled her slender body through the tiny opening. It was only just big enough and she scraped herself painfully in the process but the will that drove her was stronger than the pain. Then she was standing outside. The ground was hard with frost and the grass quite dry so that her feet did not get wet, but even so it was not very warm and Marianne was glad to wrap the blanket round her again. She hurried over to the barn, her light shoes making no sound. There was no one in sight and she had little fear of meeting anyone. She knew already from the way old Soizic had grumbled at having to take the prisoner's supper out to him that the Bretons were not fond of going out after dark for fear of encountering the ghosts of the dead.

  She reached the barn and felt for the key but she had to stand on tiptoe to reach the narrow crack between two stones. At last her fingers closed on the cold metal. Even then, however, it was not easy to discover the lock. Her hand shook with excitement and her heart beat as though it would leap out of her breast but when the key finally slipped into place she found that someone must have oiled the lock recently because it turned easily and without making a sound. Somehow, Marianne found herself inside, blown in with a gust of wind. She had to lean on the door with all her strength to close it. Overcome by excitement, she closed her eyes and once again had the feeling that all this was somehow unreal and absurd, as though she were playing a part.

  From somewhere inside the barn a voice spoke. 'So you've come? It's about time, I was just going to blow out my candle.'

  Comfortably ensconced in a heap of straw, Jean Le Dru sat with folded arms looking at Marianne. The candle she saw was still alight although almost burned down. It was stuck to the tray beside the remains of the meal. She understood however why Perinnaic had told her that if she meant to escape she would have to do so alone. Jean seemed to have suffered no ill treatment. Far from it. He had obviously been allowed to wash because his fair hair shone like gold and the beard had gone from his chin. He had been given dry clothes as well but there was a broad iron band around his ankles linked by a heavy chain to a massive ring embedded in the masonry of the wall. There must be a key to unfasten that chain, but Marianne had not got it.

  Her face was such a picture of disappointment that Le Dru began to laugh.

  'Yes, your friends have anchored me good and fast. But maybe, if they've given you a key I can see in your hand they've been good enough to give you the one that opens this little trinket as well?'

  She shook her head. 'They're are not my friends,' she said unhappily. 'I found out where they hid this key – I was hoping that we could escape together, tonight.'

  'Escape? Why do you want to escape? Aren't you happy here? I saw you trotting off like an honoured guest on the arm of that masked devil and, I will say, they've got you up like a princess. A Bretonne princess, of course, but then, in my view they're the best of all! And there's no denying it suits you. You look quite lovely in it.'

  'Stop teasing me! We are not in a drawing room. We must find some way to escape, I tell you, or both of us are lost!'

  'I am, at any rate. As for you, although I don't quite see how you are in danger my dear – marquise, is it? I am not stopping you running about the countryside on this charming night. For my own part, with your permission, I am going to sleep. It's not so bad here in this straw, all things considered. So I'll just wish you a good journey. Don't forget to shut the door when you go. There's a devil of a wind!'

  'But you don't understand!' Marianne wailed almost in tears.

  She went down on her knees beside him. 'I am not what these people think.'

  'Not an aristocrat? Who do you think will believe that? One's only to look at you.'

  'It is true, I am an aristocrat, but I am not an agent of the king. Ever since I came, they have talked about nothing but conspiracy, the princes' agents and the Emperor's spies, but I don't understand a word of it. I know nothing about it – nothing, I swear to you!'

  In her desperate longing to convince him, she had clasped her hands in a childish gesture of supplication. He must believe her. He must be her friend again, as he had been last night in the storm. She needed his man's strength so badly! And now, his beardless face made him look so unbelievably young, much closer to her than he had been before. There was something open and clean about him which was both attractiv
e and reassuring. Running out of argument, she said in a small, frightened voice which all unknown to herself, touched a chord in the boy's locked heart.

  'You see – I'm only seventeen.'

  The grey eyes which had been so cold a moment before, softened suddenly. Stretching out his arm, Jean folded the girl's clasped hands in his one big one and drew her forward until she was sitting on the straw.

  'Now,' he said quietly, 'tell me what made you run away from England. You were running away, weren't you?'

  She did not answer immediately, uncertain whether or not to tell him the truth. Her experience with the duc d'Avaray had shown her how fantastic and unconvincing her story sounded. On the other hand, she needed Jean too much to wish to deceive him. If she made up a story, he would know somehow that she was not telling the truth. And besides, she had had enough of lying. Abruptly her mind was made up.

  'I killed my husband in a duel on our wedding night!'

  'What?'

  Marianne realized that she had succeeded in breaking through the shell of mocking indifference with which Jean surrounded himself. She saw, with a degree of innocent pride, his eyes widen and appear to change colour. She was vaguely conscious that he was altering his estimation of her. His lips barely moved as he said softly:

  'Do you know what you are saying?'

  'I know,' she said sadly, 'it does sound incredible but it is true.'

  Encouraged by the instinctive trust which he inspired in her and by a deep longing to confide in someone at last, she told him all about the terrible events of her wedding night. She kept nothing back, and told her story with an honesty to which the Breton's own uncompromising nature responded. She knew he would not turn away from her and when, at the end, he nodded and put out one finger timidly to stroke her cheek, she was sure of his sympathy.

  'Pity you're a girl. You'd have made a splendid boy! Held your own anywhere! But now, tell me why you are in danger and why you have to escape from here? What has that masked man done to you?'

  'Nothing yet,' she assured him, touched by his concern, 'but we must find some way of leaving here, both of us, because we can do nothing alone. Meanwhile, I have come to ask you to stick to the same story. The chief of the wreckers thinks that—'

  She embarked on the tale of her dealings with Morvan. Jean listened, as before, but this time when she stopped talking the warm glow had gone out of his eyes. He sat thoughtfully hugging his knee.

  'If I take ship again for England, its back to the hulks! And this time, God knows when I will get out. Supposing I ever do get out!'

  'But of course you can't go back! It is just a matter of gaining time. If you agree, I'll manage to delay things for a few days, perhaps even a few hours will be enough to give us time to escape. Yes, tomorrow night should do it. I have a friend in the house and before then I should have found out where they keep the key to this chain and then we can both escape! But if you tell him the truth when he asks, nothing can save us!'

  Jean turned his head slowly and at the sight of his set face an icy trickle seemed to run down Marianne's back. Did he still not trust her? He was looking at her as though he would see through to her very soul. She was about to speak, put forward further arguments, but he silenced her.

  'How far can I trust you? You stand for everything I hate, everything I am fighting against. If this is a trap, I shall be lost without Black Fish. And I am needed. No – you can escape, go now, tonight, and leave me. I'll manage somehow!'

  'Indeed I will not! I will not go without you. Especially since you do not trust me. If I did, then you would certainly be lost! Morvan would slit your throat first thing in the morning without more ado.'

  'And you are really determined to save me? Why?'

  Why, indeed? To tell you the truth Marianne could not have said clearly yet it seemed quite natural in her own mind. Their flight together from Plymouth, the dangers they had passed through had in some way bound them together. Jean's behaviour, his protectiveness and affectionate comradeship had found a way to her heart. She would have scorned to escape alone, leaving him helpless in Morvan's power. But if he did not understand this himself, she could not explain it.

  Jean was evidently waiting for her answer. He had moved closer and she could feel his breath on her neck. Very gently, he cupped her face in his hand and turned it towards him, as though to read her thoughts in her expression. Marianne looked into the questioning blue eyes. His lips quivered a little as he persisted.

  'Answer me, little girl. Why do you want to save me? Is it out of pity?'

  'Oh, no! Not pity! But – friendship perhaps—'

  'Oh, only friendship—'

  He seemed disappointed. His hand moved lingering over Marianne's neck, caressed the curve of her shoulder and came to rest on her arm, as though loth to let her go altogether. Afraid that she had hurt him she asked:

  'Aren't you glad I am your friend? We have been through so much together – and you saved my life on the beach when those men would have killed me.'

  'That was nothing. I could not stand by and see you slaughtered like a sheep before my eyes. Any decent man would have done the same.'

  'Yes, but I think that decent men are rare. But anyway, it is settled. I stay with you.'

  Jean made no answer. Silence fell between them, a silence so deep that Marianne seemed to hear her own heart beating. It was warm in the barn and the hand lying on her arm was warm, too. She could feel the warmth through her sleeve and without quite knowing why, found it oddly comforting.

  The candle flame was guttering. It would not burn much longer but Marianne found she did not want to go. She sensed that there was nothing more to say that, although he had not said it in so many words, Jean had agreed, but still she was content to linger.

  Outside, the wind was howling round the barn but there, in the hollow of the straw, all was warm and cosy, a haven of peace in the midst of a tormented world, but Marianne had to force herself not to look at the chain which bound Jean. She had read a story once about a girl very much in love visiting the man she was to have married, in prison on the night before his execution. She had forgotten the name of the story but tonight reminded her of it a little. To be sure, there was no gallows waiting outside but at any moment, a word from Morvan could turn one of his men into an executioner.

  Jean's hand crept up again to her shoulder. She turned her head and saw him looking at her with eyes that were strangely bright. His voice, when he spoke was husky.

  'I am glad you are my friend but – I had hoped for something more – I had hoped you liked me a little. When I kissed you on the boat, you didn't mind.'

  She opened wide astonished eyes.

  'But of course I like you! Especially now that I can see your face. And I liked it when you kissed me. It – it made me feel brave again.'

  'And supposing – I were to do it again?'

  She felt his arm go round her waist to draw her to him but instead of answering, she only smiled and closed her eyes, waiting for his kiss. It was true, she did like him. He smelled of the sea, from which they had both come. His eyes were as blue as the sky and very soft. They were gazing at her tenderly, a hint of anxious pleading in their blue depths. Perhaps he loved her? He was the first young man who had ever dared come near her, with her own consent, for she discounted Jason Beaufort's stolen kiss. But this man in chains whose trembling lips were now close to her face stirred and troubled her all at once. She wanted him to be happy. Tomorrow he would risk his life again for her sake and she wanted to give him a little happiness in return. She let him kiss her, let him draw her down into the straw and even slid her own arms round his neck to make him keep on kissing her.

  At one moment he left her lips and began to cover her face and neck with little, quick kisses, light as butterfly wings yet which drew from her a long, shuddering sigh which Jean did not miss. When he fastened on her lips again, he grew more daring and began gently to unfasten her bodice. Panting a little, her head on fire, Marianne did n
ot resist. She felt on the threshold of some great and already overwhelming discovery. Her feminine instinct whispered to her that her body held some incredible surprises in store for her.

  Her thoughts went back briefly to Francis Cranmere. His should have been the hands to awaken her to these new and strange sensations. Even through the turmoil of her senses, she realized that she was on the point of giving to this stranger something which by rights belonged only to a husband and yet oddly, she felt neither shame nor scruples. She was living now outside her past life, outside any normal existence. Why not give to Jean what the American, Beaufort, had so boldly demanded, what no woman could be sure of keeping once a man had made up his mind to take it from her by force or cunning? The wretched Clarissa Harlowe whose sad history Marianne had devoured in secret, had been given a sleeping draught by the unworthy Lovelace in order that he might wreak his will on her. Marianne was not entirely sure what wreaking one's will involved, but she was sure that Jean would need no potions to achieve his ends. Dimly conscious of the ties of flesh binding men and women, she felt no will to resist. His caresses were so gentle and roused such delicious sensations in her! Then, he seemed to grow delirious, muttering broken words she only half understood, and interspersing them with more and more burning kisses. It was quite the most thrilling experience that could happen to any girl and whatever happened next must be marvellous indeed—

  Then, abruptly, the magic spell was broken and there was only crude, painful reality. Marianne screamed but Jean did not even hear. He had been starved for too long and now he fell on her, carried away by a hunger and a passion he could no longer control. Gone was the tender lover, gone the soft caresses and, in their place, an agonizing pain and a man who seemed like one possessed. Frantic with horror, she tried to struggle free, but he held her fast. She tried to scream and he stopped her mouth with another kiss, but the magic had departed. Now, Marianne endured it with muscles tensed and straining nerves. Then, quite suddenly, it was all over and, as if by magic, she was free.