[Marianne 3] - Marianne and the Privateer

by Juliette Benzoni

  He turned and looked at her again, but this time there was in his eyes something like an involuntary tenderness:

  'Does it matter so much?'

  'More than you could ever believe. I – I will never ask you anything else. You will never hear of me again…'

  It was said in a tone of such doleful resignation, and with such humility, that it found the chink in his armour. A force which he could not control brought the privateer to his knees beside her, imprisoning both her hands in his:

  'Little fool! That visit was important only from a business point of view. And the visitor was a man, another American, a boyhood friend of mine, Thomas Sumter, who has just gone off to supervise the loading of my ship. You probably don't know, but on account of the blockade a number of major French exporters are using American vessels to transport their goods. One of these is a delightful lady at Rheims, Madame Veuve Nicole Cliquot-Ponsardin, the head of great champagne caves, who has done me the honour to entrust her wares to me. Thomas has just been settling our latest agreement and has driven off to Morlaix tonight to arrange for the cargo's conveyance to – well, to somewhere outside the Empire. That is all my conspiracy. Are you satisfied?'

  'Champagne!' Marianne cried, laughing and crying at once. 'It was all about champagne! And I thought—Oh dear, it's too much, it's really too wonderful… too funny! I was right when I said I did not know you at all!'

  But Jason had only smiled perfunctorily at her relief, and there was no laughter in his eyes as he searched her radiant face with painful eagerness:

  'Marianne, Marianne! Who are you yourself with your childlike innocence and the artfulness of a woman of the world? Sometimes you are as clear as day, and at others full of strange shadows, and it may be I shall never know the truth about you.'

  'I love you – that is all the truth.'

  'You have the power to make my life a hell, and to turn me into a devil. Are you a woman or a witch?'

  'I love you – I am only a woman who loves you.'

  'And I almost killed you. I wanted to kill you…'

  'I love you. I have forgotten it already.'

  The strong, brown hands had moved steadily up Marianne's arms and folded round her, drawing her close to a hard, warm chest, and Jason's lips were on her eyes, her cheeks, were seeking her mouth. Trembling with a joy so great that for an instant it seemed that she would die, Marianne abandoned herself to the arms that now held her fast, pressing herself close to Jason and closing her eyes which were so full of tears that they overflowed and her cheeks were wet with them. Their kiss tasted of salt and fire, bitter-sweet, with all the passion and tenderness of a thing long awaited, long desired, long prayed for without real hope of that prayer being answered. It was eternity in a few seconds, broken off only to begin again, more passionately still. It was as if neither Jason nor Marianne could ever quench their grievous, burning thirst for each other, as if both were trying to cram into this fleeting moment of happiness all their share of paradise on earth.

  When at last they drew apart a little, Jason took Marianne's chin between his fingers and pushed her head up a little until the candlelight shone in the marine deeps of her eyes.

  'What a fool I've been,' he murmured. 'How could I ever have imagined for a moment that I could live the rest of my life away from you? You are a part of myself, my flesh and blood!… Now what are we going to do? I cannot keep you with me, and you have no right to stay. There is—'

  'I know,' Marianne said quickly, laying her hand on his lips to keep him from uttering the names that would have broken the spell. 'But these few hours belong to us. Surely we can forget the real world for a few moments more?'

  'Like you, I wish we could – oh, how I wish we could!' he said desperately. 'But Marianne, there is this peculiar behaviour of Cranmere's, this false information – and all that it cost you—'

  'The money is nothing. I have more than I know what to do with.'

  'Nevertheless, I will repay you. But it was not the money I was thinking of. Why did he spin you this yarn?'

  Marianne laughed. 'Just for the sake of the money, of course. You said so yourself, he was undoubtedly in need of it and he found a perfect means. The only thing to do now is to forget it.'

  She slid her arms tenderly round his neck and tried to draw him to her once again but Jason unfastened her encircling arms very gently and got to his feet:

  'Can you hear? There is a window banging in the next room.'

  'Call one of the servants.'

  'I sent them all to bed before Thomas came. My business affairs are my own concern.'

  He moved towards the door which led to the adjoining room and Marianne followed him automatically. Now that the rain had stopped and everywhere was quiet, she sensed a strangeness in the atmosphere of the house, as if it were full of the rustle of skirts, faint whisperings which were probably nothing more than lingering drops of water dripping from the trees on to the gravel paths outside. The room where the window was banging, a large, almost empty salon, was dark but, glancing out of the windows, Marianne thought she saw lights flitting among the shadows in the grounds that ran down to the Versailles road. There was something ominous about them in the thick dark out there, and she hurried after Jason, who was making the window fast.

  'I thought I saw lights in the garden. You saw nothing?'

  'Nothing at all. Your eyes have been playing tricks on you.'

  'And the noises?… Did you hear nothing? As it were a rustle of silk, a sighing?'

  It might have been the effects of darkness, for it was almost completely dark, the lights in the next room casting only a feeble shaft through the half-open door, but Marianne found that her hearing and her mind seemed attuned to a host of faint, disquieting sounds. It was as if every board, every panel, every piece of furniture in the house had taken on a life of its own – a frightening feeling.

  Startled by the odd note in her voice, Jason folded her once more in his arms, clasping her to him gently, like some fragile, precious object, then, as he realized that she was burning hot, he began to worry:

  'You're feverish! It is that which makes you see and hear things. Come, I can feel you shivering… You need care. Oh, my God, and to think I…' He tried to urge her forward but she hung back, staring wide-eyed into the darkness, which now began to seem less black.

  'No. Listen! It is like someone crying. A woman… she is crying to warn us…'

  'Any moment you will tell me you are another who has seen the poor princess's ghost! Enough of this, Marianne. You are doing yourself no good and I am afraid that I have made matters worse. We must not stay here.'

  Without further argument, he picked her up in his arms and carried her through into the other room and shut the door carefully behind them before depositing his burden on a small sofa. Having first wrapped Marianne in her silken cloak and placed a cushion underneath her head, he announced his intention of rousing the cook to bring her some hot milk. Walking over to the corner by the bookcase, he pulled the bell rope which had been concealed there. Muffled to her chin in the green silk, Marianne followed him with her eyes.

  'It's no good,' she said unhappily. 'The best thing is for me to go home. But – I didn't see the ghost, you know. I heard it. I know I did.'

  'Don't be so silly. There is no ghost outside your own imagination.'

  'There is… it was trying to warn us—'

  Quite suddenly, the house seemed to be wide awake. Doors opened and shut noisily and there was a sound of hurried footsteps. Even before Jason could reach the door to inquire what was afoot, it was flung open to admit a bewildered-looking footman bearing all the signs of one who had dressed in great haste:

  'The police! It is the police, Monsieur!'

  'Here? At this hour? What do they want?'

  'I – I do not know. They made the lodge keeper open the gate and they are already in the grounds.'

  Seized with a horrible foreboding, Marianne sat up and began feverishly putting on her cloak, tying
the silken strings with trembling hands. She stared up at Jason with frightened eyes. The thought in her mind was that Francis might have cheated her and, without the least shadow of proof, have informed on Jason as a conspirator.

  'What are you going to do?' she asked in an anguished undertone. 'You see, I was right to be afraid…'

  'There is nothing to be afraid of,' Jason said stoutly. 'I have done nothing I need be ashamed of and I have no reason to suppose that I have enemies.' He turned to the footman, who was still trembling in the doorway. 'You may tell whoever is in charge that I am ready to see them. No doubt it is all a mistake. But ask them to wait a moment…'

  He was buttoning his shirt as he spoke, winding his neckcloth deftly about his throat and reaching for the coat which he had taken off earlier for the sake of coolness and laid over the back of a chair. This done, he came back to Marianne and helped her to her feet.

  'How did you get in?'

  'By the little door in the wall in the rue de Seine. Gracchus is waiting for me there, with the chaise hidden close by.'

  'Then you must go to him at once… I hope you may still be able to get out without being seen. Fortunately it has stopped raining. Come! They will still be at the front of the house.'

  But Marianne clung to him desperately:

  'I don't want to leave you! If there is any danger to you, I want to share it.'

  'Now you are being childish. I am in no danger. But you, or your reputation at least, will be horribly compromised if these policemen find you here. No one must know—'

  'I don't care!' Marianne cried wildly. 'You want to keep it from Pilar, that is all—'

  'For heaven's sake, Marianne! Stop this foolishness! I give you my word that in asking you to leave now I am thinking only of you—' He broke off suddenly and his arms, which had been holding her, fell to his sides. It was too late. The door had opened and a man was already in the room. He was a big man, very solidly-built, dressed all in black, buttoned high to the chin below a long, drooping moustache. In his hand he held a high-crowned velours hat, black likewise, and his eyes, Marianne saw in the light of the candles, were the hardest and coldest she had ever seen.

  The newcomer sketched a brief salute, 'Inspector Pâques. I'm sorry to disturb you, Monsieur, but we have received information to the effect that there has been a crime committed in this house and that we should find a body here.'

  'A crime?' echoed Jason and Marianne together. But while Jason advanced to meet the policeman, Marianne stayed where she was, leaning heavily on a chair. She felt as if she were about to faint. The absurd, yet horrifying menace which had hung over her life since that fateful evening at the theatre seemed to have come home to roost. What was all this about crimes and dead bodies? It was like some dreadful farce in rather bad taste, the police bursting in in the middle of her love scene… Then she heard Jason's voice, calm and even a little amused:

  'Are you sure your information was correct, Monsieur? I knew this house was supposed to be haunted, but this talk of corpses lying about… I would not cast doubts on your informant but I confess I find it all very surprising.'

  His level, courteous tone must have impressed the police officer because he gave a small, rigid bow before replying:

  'I am very willing to admit, Monsieur, the information in question reached us anonymously, but it was so definite – and so serious – that I did not hesitate to act.'

  'So serious? Does that mean you know whose body you expect to find here?'

  'No. We know only that the man is a loyal servant of the Emperor and – and that he is a special agent. I could no more ignore the matter than if a political assassination had been involved.'

  It was Jason's turn to bow. 'Very true. Although I am amazed as I am intrigued! My dear Sir, the house is yours. Pray search. I shall be most interested to accompany you. But first, if you will excuse me, I will escort this lady to her carriage. This business is not suitable for her.'

  Inspector Pâques was already half-way to the door but he turned at this and came back to the young couple:

  'I regret that will not be possible, Monsieur. I must ask you not to leave this room until the search has been made. This lady is the Princess Sant'Anna, I believe?'

  This time it was Marianne who answered. She had listened with mounting alarm to the polite exchange between Jason and his unexpected visitor but now at the mention of her own name her fears, although still nameless, took on a new edge of horror. All the same, it was with dignity and a fair assumption of coolness that she said: 'That is so. May I ask how you know me?'

  'I have not that honour, Madame,' Pâques replied chillingly. 'But our information stated that you would be found with Monsieur Beaufort—whose mistress you are.'

  Before Marianne could say a word, Jason had stepped between her and the policeman. The muscles of his jaw were taut with a rage barely under control and his eyes were very bright.

  'That will do!' he said sharply. 'Do what you came to do, since the word of an anonymous informant is enough to make you invade a respectable household, but do not insult people!'

  'I was not insulting anyone. I speak as I read—'

  'If you believe everything you read, I am sorry for you. Moreover, no accusations have so far been made against either myself or the lady, I think. For myself, it makes no difference, but let me advise you to behave more courteously towards one who is a personal friend of the Emperor, unless you wish me to register a complaint against you. I am, after all, an American citizen, as you may know.'

  'Very good,' the inspector cut him short. 'If I have made a mistake in coming here, Monsieur, I'll engage to apologize, but for the present I must ask you not to leave this room.'

  He went out and Marianne and Jason were left alone. They looked at each other, he with a faint shrug and a quick, reassuring smile that yet did not reach his eyes and she with an anxiety she no longer made any attempt to hide.

  'This is ridiculous,' Jason said. But Marianne shook her head:

  'No – I am afraid it may be somehow the work of Lord Cranmere. And there is nothing ridiculous there, unfortunately.'

  Jason gave a start and frowned. 'You think this police fellow's letter may have come from him? It's possible – but from what he said, I seem to be the principal target and I cannot see why Cranmere should wish me harm…'

  'Because he knows quite well that the best way to hurt me is to strike at you!' Marianne's voice held all the passionate urgency of her need to convince her friend of what was growing every moment clearer to herself. Everything pointed to it, even the strange noises in the house which only she, with her extremely delicate sensitivity and an ear which, perhaps owing to the English side of her nature, seemed unusually attuned to anything connected with the supernatural, had heard.

  'Think, Jason! You yourself were struck by the coincidence of all that has happened since last night, when I found that man in my house. This curious mixture of truth and falsehood which keeps recurring…'

  'Truth?' the American said with sudden ferocity. 'What truth do you see in that damned anonymous note, apart from the reference to your presence here tonight?'

  'Lord Cranmere was the only person who knew that I was coming—'

  'That's as may be. But that is as far as it goes. You are not my mistress, are you? While as for this fictitious crime, this wholly imaginary corpse—'

  He stopped short, becoming aware of the sudden reappearance of Inspector Pâques, this time through the french window by which Marianne had entered earlier, and looking, if possible, even chillier than at his first entry:

  'Will you be good enough to come with me, Monsieur? And you also, Madame.'

  'Where to?' Jason said.

  'To the billiard-room in the small pavilion in the grounds.'

  Marianne's presentiment of some imminent catastrophe had become a certainty. She read disaster in the set face of the policeman and she was sure that his eyes held a threat. Jason, too, had scanned Pâques's uncommunicative features wi
th surprise, but he gave no sign beyond a slight shrug as he held out his hand to Marianne, saying on a note of exasperated resignation: 'Oh, very well! Since you insist.'

  They went out into the garden. The heat which had made the earlier part of the evening so unpleasant had given way to a cool freshness and from the drenched earth and dripping trees there came a reviving smell of new-washed leaves and wet grass. But the dark figures of the police were stationed grimly among the roses on the three terraces and Marianne shivered, thinking that there were enough of them to surround a whole village and wondering at the extravagance which could employ so many men to check on a single house. It was possible, of course, that Inspector Pâques had been expecting a gang of criminals and had been determined at all costs to prevent an escape, which must always be reckoned a possibility in a garden of such size. The men stood quite still. One or two held shaded lanterns in their hands to throw a light on the path, but altogether they gave the impression of some ominous guard. Marianne must have trembled perceptibly because she felt Jason's fingers tighten on hers and drew some comfort from the warmth of the contact.

  The little pavilion which had once been used as a billiard-room at some time in the past stood slightly to the right of the house. The light inside gave it the air of a big, yellow lantern standing there in the dark. Two men were standing guard at the door, leaning heavily on the knotted cudgels which were formidable weapons in their hands. They stood, silent and ominous, like two black attendants at the mouth of a tomb, and Marianne's hand clutched Jason's nervously. Pâques opened the door and stood aside to allow the couple to enter:

  'Go in and see.'

  Jason entered first and after a quick start moved instinctively to block his companion's view, and at the same time to keep her from stepping in the blood which covered the room. But it was already too late. She had seen what lay within.

  She gave a single horrified shriek, then turned, her knees giving way beneath her, to escape the nightmare vision, only to come full against the inspector's large chest, blocking the doorway.