'Surcouf!' she breathed. 'Baron Surcouf!'
'The pirate?' Madame Hamelin could scarcely contain her excitement. 'That fellow built like a battleship?'
'Yes, and now I know who it was the girl was watching for. Look!'
Gwen had slipped out from the shelter of her pillar and was about to pass the entrance to the Grand Véfour, dragging her feet suddenly, like a woman in the last stages of exhaustion.
'What is she going to do?' Fortunée whispered. 'Is she going to try and accost him?'
Marianne frowned. 'She is up to no good, that's for sure. Morvan hates Surcouf even more than he hates the Emperor. I wonder —' She broke off. 'Come on, quickly.'
She had a sudden fear that the girl might be concealing a weapon underneath her pelisse but no, as she came up with the king of the corsairs, she stopped and seemed to stagger. Then, putting one trembling hand up to her head, she swayed and fell in a little heap upon the ground.
Surcouf, seeing a young woman fainting at his feet, naturally sprang forward to aid her. He had his arms round her to raise her and Marianne, springing forward at the same instant, arrived in time to hear the Bretonne murmur faintly: 'It is nothing – for pity's sake, sir, help me to the carriage… close at hand. I shall be… cared for.'
As she spoke she moved her hand a little, wearily, warding off the other persons who had drawn near. But Marianne knew now what she planned. Surcouf would require no assistance to carry this slip of a girl as far as the carriage where, no doubt, there would be men lying in wait for him. He would be whisked into the vehicle in a trice and neatly carried off. A valuable hostage against the release of the wrecker – supposing the bargain was ever kept. Moreover, Marianne was sure that Fanchon Fleur-de-Lis and her associates had a hand in the affair. She did not hesitate for an instant.
Stepping up to Surcouf, who was already lifting the pretended invalid in his arms, she laid her gloved hand on his sleeve and said crisply: 'Do not touch the woman, Baron, she is no more faint than you or I. Above all, do not go near that carriage.'
Surcouf looked in astonishment at the veiled woman who had made this remarkable statement, laying Gwen down again as he did so. The girl gave an angry exclamation. 'Who are you, madame?' Surcouf asked.
Marianne swiftly pushed back her veil. 'Someone who stands greatly in your debt and who is glad to have been by in time to prevent your kidnapping.'
The sight of her face called forth two exclamations, one glad, the other furious.
'Mademoiselle Marianne!' cried the pirate.
'You!' spat the Bretonne. 'Must you always interfere?'
'Such is not my intention,' Marianne said coldly. 'If you behaved yourself like anyone else it would not be necessary.'
'Well, you were wrong! Anyone can be taken ill —'
'And be well again just as quickly! My appearance has cured you fast enough.'
A crowd was already beginning to gather, attracted by the sound of the two women's angry voices. Seeing that she had failed in her mission, the Bretonne shrugged and would have slipped away but Surcouf's large, brown hand was laid heavily on her shoulder, preventing her.
'Not so fast, my pretty. You don't run away from this quarrel. You have been accused, now defend yourself.'
'I have nothing to explain.'
'I think you have.' Fortunée's lilting tones came to them as she made her way through the crowd with two men at her heels. 'These gentlemen are most anxious to hear what you have to say.'
Black coats buttoned to the chin, battered felt hats, stout shoes and truncheons, all proclaimed that the new arrivals were policemen. The crowd parted and drew back to make way for them and the two men ranged themselves with practised ease on each side of Gwen, who began to struggle like fury.
'I have done nothing! Let me go! What right have you to arrest me?'
'We are arresting you for the attempted kidnapping of the Baron Surcouf. Come along now, young woman, you can explain yourself to the judge.'
'You have no right to accuse me without proof! This is not justice —'
'In the absence of proof we're holding your two accomplices: the men in the black chaise. This lady,' the policeman indicated Madame Hamelin, 'warned us in time. Two of our colleagues are dealing with them now, so come along quietly.'
Strong hands dragged the Breton girl away, kicking and screaming like a mad thing. Once, before she was out of sight, she turned and spat at Marianne.
'We'll meet again and I shall pay you out for this, you little bitch!'
When the policemen had gone the crowd surged back again, surrounding Surcouf with a buzz of admiration. Everyone wanted to shake the famous sailor by the hand. He endeavoured to extricate himself with an unfeigned shyness, shook a few hands and finally succeeded in leading Marianne to the terrace of the Café de la Rotonde which jutted out into the gardens.
'Come and eat an ice with me and let us renew our acquaintance. After so much excitement, you must be in need of refreshment, and your friend also.'
When they were seated under the circular glass dome and Surcouf had given the order, his twinkling blue eyes moved from Marianne to Fortunée, who was displaying all her exotic plumage for his benefit, but returned always to Marianne.
'I was wondering, you know, what had become of you. I wrote to you several times, through Fouché, but I had no answer.'
'I did not remain with the Duke of Otranto,' Marianne said, attacking a vanilla sorbet with gusto, 'but he might have put himself to the trouble of forwarding your letters.'
'That is rather what I think. I was going to call on him before I go back to Brittany.'
'What? Do you go so soon?'
'I must. I came only on business and now that I have seen you all is well. I can leave with a quiet mind. Do you know, you are looking magnificent?'
His admiring gaze took in the fashionable toilette, lingering on the gold and jewels adorning her wrists, and Marianne felt herself grow hot with embarrassment. How could she tell him what had happened to her? Her liaison with the Emperor was so fantastic, so wholly unexpected that it must be hard for a man as simple and direct as the corsair to understand it. It was Fortunée who guessed her friend's dilemma and hastened to explain.
'But my dear Baron, you are looking at the queen of Paris.'
'What's this? Not that I would deny your right to have a kingdom at your feet, but —'
'You wonder how it came about so quickly? Marianne, let me tell you, is no more. Allow me to present to you the Signorina Maria Stella.'
'You? But all Paris is talking of nothing but your beauty and your talent. Then you are the Emperor's —' He broke off and the great, leonine face flushed suddenly under its tan. An identical flush mounted Marianne's cheeks. He was embarrassed by what he had nearly said, she by his abrupt and obvious silence. She knew that, short as his stay in Paris had been, Surcouf was familiar with the current gossip and was now well aware that he was talking to Napoleon's mistress, and it seemed to her that he did not relish the thought. His blue eyes, so oddly reminiscent of Jason Beaufort's, had darkened. There was a short, pregnant pause. Even Fortunée seemed unwilling to break into it with her inconsequential chatter but had turned her attention instead to the consumption of her chocolate ice. In the end, it was Marianne who was the first to speak.
'You disapprove of me, don't you?'
'No… I am only afraid for your happiness — if you love him. And there can be no doubt of that, I think.'
'Why do you say that?'
'Because there are some things a woman like you will not do without love. I can only add that he is a lucky man. I hope he realizes it.'
'I am luckier. But why do you think I may not be happy?'
'Because you are who you are, and because you love him. His marriage must have been painful for you.'
Marianne bowed her head. With the simple percipience of men who spend their lives dealing with nature as well as with men, the sailor had read her feelings like a book.
'Yes.' S
he managed a small, taut smile. 'It is painful but I would not have it otherwise. I have learned to my cost that everything in this world must be paid for and I am ready to pay the price of my happiness, however heavy.'
He rose and, bowing slightly, raised her hand to his lips. The hardness of his face frightened her suddenly.
'Are you going? Does this mean that – that you are no longer my friend?'
His rare smile swept for a brief instant across his face but there was a world of warmth in the blue eyes bleached by so many storms, so many nights spent gazing into the wind from a heaving deck.
'Your friend? I shall be that to my last breath, to the ending of the world. It is just that I am obliged to go. Here is my brother coming with two of our captains whom I had arranged to meet here in the gardens.'
Marianne clung a little to the roughened fingers that clasped hers. 'I shall see you again?'
'If it lies in my power. But where may I find you?'
'At the Hôtel d'Asselnat in the rue de Lille. You will always be welcome there.'
Once again he pressed his lips lightly to the small hand imprisoned in his own and smiled but this time with a boyish twinkle in his eye.
'Do not be too pressing in your invitation or you might never be rid of me. You can't think how persistent we nautical fellows can be.'
He moved away to join the three men and Fortunée Hamelin heaved a great sigh.
'He scarcely so much as glanced at me,' she said with a disappointed pout. 'Indeed, my love, when you are by none of us stand a chance. Yet I wish he might have noticed me a little. He is a man after my own heart.'
Marianne gave a gurgle of laughter. 'So are most men, Fortunée! Leave me my corsair, you have plenty more. What about Dupont, for instance?'
'There is a time for everything. This one is something special and if you do not tell me the moment he shows his face inside your house I shall never speak to you again.'
'Very well. I promise.'
The little noon gun had just gone off in a neat puff of white smoke, and Marianne and her friend made their way out of the gardens to where the carriage was waiting for them in front of the Comédie Française. As they passed underneath the arcades of the erstwhile palace of the Dukes of Orleans, Fortunée remarked suddenly: 'I am worried about that Breton girl. I did not like that look of hers. You have enough enemies as it is.'
'I am not afraid of her. What can she do? I could hardly let her kidnap Surcouf. I should never have forgiven myself.'
'Marianne,' Fortunée spoke with unwonted seriousness. 'Never underestimate a woman's hatred. Sooner or later she will try and be revenged on you for what you have done.'
'On me? What about you? Who fetched the police? And by the way, how did you manage that so quickly?'
Madame Hamelin shrugged her pretty shoulders and fanned herself idly with a corner of her scarf.
'Oh, as to that, there are always some in any public place and they are not hard to recognize, are they now?'
Marianne said nothing. She was thinking about the peculiar series of coincidences which seemed to have been conspiring to bring together all the people who, for good or ill, had played a part in her life since her ill-fated wedding day. She had heard of people on the point of death seeing the whole of their past lives unroll before their eyes. Was something of the same kind happening to her and was her life about to take a completely new direction? The short-lived existences of Lady Cranmere and the singer Maria Stella were passing before her eyes once more before they vanished, to make way for what? What name would Marianne d'Asselnat bear next? Mrs Beaufort – or that of some man as yet a stranger to her?
***
The excursion to the Palais-Royal had certainly proved a distraction, but it seemed to Marianne that she had never known a day so long. She was filled with an overwhelming desire to go home, she was sure that there was something waiting for her there, but since she had no real excuse for returning to the rue de Lille fear of Fortunée's mockery kept her at her friend's side throughout her interminable shopping expedition. Besides, what could there be awaiting her but empty silence?
Fortunée was in the throes of one of her periodical fits of extravagance. She had always taken a childish pleasure in spending money but there were times when she would throw it about with a kind of madness. Today was one of those days. She bought far more things than she could ever possibly need until the carriage was piled high with parcels and packages containing scarves, gloves, hats and slippers, each thing more expensive than the last. When Marianne finally voiced her astonishment at this renewal of her wardrobe, Fortunée burst out laughing.
'I told you I would make Ouvrard pay for the charming trick he played on you. This is only the beginning. He is going to be snowed under with bills.'
'Suppose he refuses to pay?'
'Oh, he is far too vain. He'll pay, my love, down to the very last farthing! Just look at that ravishing hat with the curled feathers! It is exactly the green to match your eyes. It would be a shame for anyone else to wear it. I shall buy it for you.'
In spite of all Marianne's protests a smart pink bandbox containing the green hat was added to the impressive collection already filling the barouche.
'Think of me when you wear it,' Fortunée chuckled, 'and let it take your mind off your cousin's antics! At her age, to lose her head over a play-actor! Not that I deplore her taste, mark you. That Bobèche is a very pretty fellow, very pretty indeed.'
'In another five minutes you will be asking me to go with you to see him perform,' Marianne cried. 'No, Fortunée. I love you dearly but the kindest thing you can do now will be to take me home.'
'Are you tired already? And I wanted to take you to Frascati's for some chocolate!'
'Another time, please. It will be a dreadful squeeze and I don't want to see anyone but you.'
'You are so old-fashioned!' Madame Hamelin grumbled. 'All this absurd fidelity! And meanwhile his majesty is hunting and dancing and gaming and playgoing in the company of his blushing bride!'
'I am not interested,' Marianne snapped.
'No? Not even if I tell you our dear Marie-Louise has already managed to put up the backs of half the ladies at court and a good few men besides? She is thought stiff, awkward and far from amiable. A far cry from poor, darling Josephine and her delightful manners! How Napoleon can fail to see it —!'
'She is a Habsburg. He probably still sees her with the Austrian eagle on her back and the crown of Charlemagne on her head! He is dazzled,' Marianne said automatically, unwilling to discuss Marie-Louise.
'Well, he is the only one! And I can't imagine that she will dazzle the good people in the north who are to have the honour of admiring her in a week's time. The court leaves Compiègne on the twenty-seventh —'
'I know,' Marianne said vaguely. 'I know.'
The twenty-seventh? Where would she be on the twenty-seventh? The cardinal had given her a month to prepare herself for the bridegroom he had chosen for her. Their last meeting had been on the fourth of April. That meant that she should join her godfather by about the fourth of May, and already it was the nineteenth of April, and Gracchus had not returned. The time was passing horribly fast.
Unconsciously translating her inward trouble into words, she said: 'Please, take me home.'
'As you wish,' Fortunée sighed. 'Perhaps you are right. I have spent enough money for one day.'
Marianne's impatience grew as they approached the rue de Lille.
When the carriage reached her own house, she sprang down into the street before the driver could turn into the courtyard, and without even giving the footman time to let down the steps.
'Well really!' Fortunée exclaimed, gaping at her. 'Are you in such a hurry to be rid of me?'
'It is not you,' Marianne called over her shoulder. 'But I must get home. I have just remembered something important.'
As an excuse it was not brilliant but Fortunée was too well-bred to press her further. A shrug, a smile, a wave of her hand, and
she gave her coachman the word to drive on while Marianne, with a feeling of relief, pushed open the little side gate and stepped into the courtyard.
The first thing she saw was Guillaume, one of the stable lads, leading a foam-flecked horse towards the stables, Marianne's heart missed a beat and she knew that her instinct had not misled her in urging her to come home. The horse was Samson. Gracchus had come back, at last. Marianne sped up the steps and practically fell over Jeremy, opening the door in his usual stately fashion.
'Gracchus?' she panted. 'He is back?'
'Yes, mademoiselle. About ten minutes ago. He desired to speak with mademoiselle but I informed him —'
Where is he?'
'He has gone to his room, no doubt to change his clothes. Should I —'
'No need. I am going to him.'
Ignoring his scandalized expression, Marianne picked up her skirts and ran to the servants' quarters. Speeding breathlessly up the wooden stairs that led to Gracchus's chamber, she burst in without knocking to be greeted by an anguished cry from her scantily-clad henchman, who dived rapidly behind the bed, making a grab for the quilt to cover his embarrassment.
'Mademoiselle Marianne! Lord, what a fright you gave me! I'm all of a dither—'
'Never mind that,' Marianne interrupted him briskly. Tell me what kept you so long. For days now I have been gnawing my fingers with anxiety. I thought you had been waylaid, murdered even—'
'Ah, and I was not far off it, either!' Gracchus scowled. 'And not by brigands but by the Emperor's recruiting sergeants who were determined to carry me off to fight for King Joseph in Spain. At Bayonne that was.'
'Bayonne! But I sent you to Nantes!'
'I went to Nantes to begin with but M'sieur Patterson told me M'sieur Beaufort was due in at Bayonne in a day or two with a cargo, so I took the letter and rode off there.' His voice took on a reproachful note. 'You might have told me, Mademoiselle Marianne, that it was M'sieur Beaufort you were writing to, and it would have saved me a journey. I could have gone straight to Bayonne.'
Marianne and The Masked Prince Page 22
