It was this fundamental division which was at the root of all he said and did. A woman might look for every consideration and respect from him, but let her once err and his reaction would be harsh and complete. The unhappy female would be relegated in his mind to the common herd of creatures whom he must have met in every port on earth and who, in his eyes, deserved less even than the slaves at Faye Blanche, his family's plantation near Charleston. If once a member of this uncertain sex succeeded, as Marianne had done, in inspiring him with a real passion, then the exquisitely regulated machine which was Jason Beaufort was thrown out of gear.
Back in her own room, Marianne eyed her enormous bed without enthusiasm. Tired as she was, she felt no urge to sleep. Her thoughts would keep straying anxiously to the warm tandour where Jason sat listening to Jolival telling the hateful story, without mincing his words, no doubt, because it had been clear that the vicomte meant to spare his hearer nothing.
Marianne could not help smiling inwardly as she thought of her old friend's outburst of rage and she thanked heaven yet again for giving her one person in her turbulent life who would always spring to her defense. In her present state, she was in no condition to stand up to Jason's principles. Her cheeks still burned at the memory of the scene on board the Sea Witch.
Turning her back on the bed which a maidservant had turned down for her, she dropped on to the huge white satin cushion which was set before a low table covered with a vast assortment of pots and jars. Donna Lavinia came behind her and, settling a blue linen towel around her shoulders, began to take out the pins that held her heavy coil of hair in place. Marianne suffered her to finish and then, when her black locks fell freely about her shoulders, checked her as she was picking up the silver hairbrushes.
"Lavinia, dear," she said softly, "I want you to go back to the tandour, or into the blue drawing room, at least. Monsieur de Jolival might need you."
The old lady smiled understandingly.
"I believe I sent for everything he should want. But perhaps you would wish me to deliver a message to him?"
"Yes. I'd like you to ask him—quite privately—if he will come here before he goes to bed. Tell him to be sure to come, however late it is. I shall not go to bed until—"
"But that is very wrong of you, my lady. The doctor said you were to go to bed early and get plenty of sleep."
"That's easier said than done when I cannot sleep at all. Very well, come back and help me into bed but do not close the door or put the lights out. Then you may go to bed. There's no need for you to wait up for the vicomte. The gentlemen may stay talking for a long time."
"Should I give orders for a room to be made ready for Your Highness's friend?"
Donna Lavinia's voice had stiffened slightly with the words. Her loving, faithful heart had made her sense in the tall and all too attractive stranger a danger and a threat to the master who had always been so dear to her. And Marianne was suddenly ashamed of the situation brought about by Jason's untimely arrival. She was a woman bringing her lover into her husband's house—a husband from whom she had had nothing but kindness. In vain she told herself that she was paying a high price for it. The unpleasant feeling remained. The part she had elected to play was certainly no easy one.
The look she gave Lavinia was unconsciously apologetic.
"I don't really know. He may go away at once, but on the other hand he may be glad to spend the night here. At all events, he won't be staying more than a few hours."
The housekeeper nodded. She helped Marianne into her nightdress and put her into the big bed, arranging the pillows carefully at her back. Then she checked the lamps to make sure that oil and wicks were as they should be and went away, with a little curtsy, to carry out the task entrusted to her.
Marianne, left alone, lay still for a moment, savoring the scented warmth of the sheets and the soft light in the room. She tried to make her mind a blank, not to think at all, but it was more than she could manage. Her thoughts would keep returning to the tandour. She pictured the two men there: Jolival prowling around in the small space between the stove and the divans. Jason, sitting down, with his hands clasped between his knees in the way that she had seen him sit a hundred times, whenever he wanted to give someone his full attention. For all the coldness of her words to him, Marianne had never loved him more.
In an effort to distract her mind, she picked up at random one of the books that lay on her bedside table but, although she knew the text almost by heart, her brain seemed incapable of taking anything in beyond the title. The book was The Divine Comedy, one of her favorites, but it might have been written in Hittite characters for all her eyes could make of it. She finished by tossing it aside impatiently, closed her eyes—and was asleep before she knew it.
She woke to a sudden pain. She could not have been asleep for long because the level of the oil in her bedside lamp had hardly dropped at all. Everything about her was in complete silence. The darkened palace seemed to be asleep, muffled in the soft cocoon of its curtains, its cushions and its hangings. Yet it was certain that not everyone could be asleep, for Jolival had not come.
Marianne lay for a moment with her eyes wide open, listening to the beating of her own heart and observing the progress of the pain which had started in the lower part of her belly and spread slowly to invade her whole body. It was not a bad pain and already it was fading, but it was a warning, a foretaste perhaps of what was in store for her. Had the time come to lay down her burden at last?
She lay and wondered what she ought to do and decided to wait for another pain to come and confirm what might easily be a too-hasty assumption before sending for the doctor who, at this time of night, would certainly be fast asleep in his bed. She had just stretched out her hand to ring the bell for Donna Lavinia, to ask her what she thought, when there was a soft tap on the door. It opened without waiting for an answer, and Arcadius looked in.
"May I come in?"
"Yes, of course. I've been expecting you."
The pain had quite gone now. Marianne sat up in bed and settled herself among her pillows, refreshed by the smile on her friend's face, which bore no sign of the anger which had been there earlier. In the shadows of the big bed, Marianne's eyes were bright with the anticipation of happiness.
"Jason? Where is he?"
"At this moment I should think he must be getting into bed. He can do with some sleep. So can I, in fact, because along with the coffee Donna Lavinia sent in a bottle of first-rate brandy. I don't like to think what she'd say if she knew we'd finished it."
Marianne's jaw dropped. It was too much! While she had been picturing them engaged in serious, even tragic conference, there the two of them had been quite simply getting drunk together! There was no mistaking Jolival's beaming countenance, the flush mantling his nose and the glazed look in his eyes. He was in what was commonly called a state of mild inebriation and Marianne wondered whether this temporary euphoria was, after all, a cause for great rejoicing.
"You still have not told me where he is," she said severely. "Although I am glad to see that you appear to have passed an agreeable evening."
"Most agreeable. We are in perfect agreement. But you were asking me where our friend is now? The answer is, he's in the room next to mine."
"He has consented to spend the night here? In Prince Sant'Anna's house?"
"He had no reason to refuse. Besides, who said anything about Prince Sant'Anna? This house belongs to Turhan Bey. In other words, the man whom Beaufort knew as Caleb."
"You were supposed to tell him everything," Marianne burst out. "Why didn't you say—"
"That, like the Deity, these were three persons in one? No, my child. You see—" Jolival dropped the bantering tone he had used so far and became oddly serious. "It did not seem to me that I had the right to reveal a secret which is not my own—or yours either, if it comes to that. If the prince wants Jason Beaufort to know that the man he treated as a slave and almost allowed to die under the lash was your husband, he w
ill say so. But for my own part, I think that, considering Jason's attitude to colored people, it is best that he should continue in ignorance. Since you mean to sever your connection with the prince and resume your own life after the child is born, there is no reason why Beaufort should not go on believing he is dead."
During this speech, Marianne's initial protest died away as she had time to think. Jolival's wisdom, even when drawn from a bottle, could be disconcerting, but it was sound. And very often, against all the odds, he had been right.
"But in that case, how did you manage to explain the fact that I was living in Caleb's house—and that I had suffered myself to remain in—in my present condition?"
Jolival, who seemed to be having some difficulty retaining his balance on his feet, sat down cautiously on the very edge of the bed and, taking out his handkerchief, began to mop his brow with it. He was looking extremely warm and smelled strongly of tobacco, but for once Marianne did not even notice it.
"Come now," she said again. "How did you explain that?"
"Very easily—and without straying very far from the truth. You decided to have the child which was conceived in such frightful circumstances—and I may say it is well for Signor Damiani that he has already departed this life because our friend's one idea at this moment would be to tear him limb from limb. Where was I? Oh, yes. You kept the child because it was no longer possible to be rid of it without putting your life at risk. Beaufort can scarcely object to that, especially since his moral code is so much stricter than yours—than ours, I mean."
"What exactly do you mean?" Marianne asked crossly.
"Just this—that whoever the father and whatever the circumstances, Beaufort believes that any woman who procures herself an abortion is committing a crime. Well, he's a man of principle and that includes a respect for human life and what amounts to a reverence for babies carried to extremes."
"In other words," Marianne said dazedly, "he was furiously angry that I was expecting a child but by no means willing for me to get rid of it?"
"Precisely. What he actually said was that he had truly believed that this was simply one of the bad dreams which had haunted him for so long, but that since it was a fact he was glad I had had sense enough to stop you doing anything so foolish. Women, he said, ought to realize that a child is much more their creation than the man's. Let the father be who he may, there is a bond between the child and its mother which some never realize until it is too late. So you see, I had no need to look for any explanations. He found them for himself."
"And my being here?"
"Just as simple. Caleb owed his life to you. It was natural that, once he had resumed his true identity, he should offer you a refuge from the animosity of the British ambassador in his house, where no one would ever think to look for you."
"And Jason accepted that?"
"Without a moment's hesitation. He is filled with remorse at the thought of having treated as he did a man of his worth—and influence. He is determined to present his apologies tomorrow morning. Don't worry," Jolival added quickly, seeing Marianne's start of anxiety. "I mean to warn the prince before I go to bed."
"At this hour? He will be asleep."
"No. He's a man who sleeps very little and does much of his work at night. He reads, writes, attends to his collections and his business interests, which are very extensive. You know nothing of him, Marianne, but I can tell you he is a very remarkable man."
What had got into Jolival? Was he going to start singing the prince's praises? How could he let his mind wander so easily from the subject which was of such passionate interest to her?
"Jolival," she said a little pettishly, "can we please get back to Jason? What else did he say? What does he think? What is he going to do?"
But Arcadius, whose manners appeared to have deserted him, only yawned, rose and stretched himself like a scrawny cat.
"What did he say? Lord, I can't remember now! But I'll tell you what he thinks. He loves you more than ever and he's fuller of remorse than an overgrown garden is of weeds. As to what he's going to do—he'll tell you that himself in the morning. Because I daresay he'll come running to your door as soon as he's out of his bed. All the same… don't expect him too early."
Marianne was too happy to reproach her old friend for a degree of frivolity which she put down largely to the brandy he had drunk.
"I see how it is," she said, laughing at him. "You think he'll still be suffering the effects of your potations."
"Oh, he's got a sound enough head on him. He's still young. But there, enough is enough. If it will stop you worrying yourself all night, I'd better tell you, I suppose, that Beaufort means to beg you very humbly to go to him in America as soon as your health permits."
"Go to him? But why not go together? Why can't he wait for me?"
She had started up agitatedly and Jolival bent and pressed her shoulders gently down again on to the pillows.
"Now don't excite yourself again, Marianne. The situation in Washington is very grave, because relations between President Madison and the British Government are extremely strained. Beaufort told me that he met a friend of his in Athens, a cousin of that Captain Bainbridge who was obliged by the Dey of Algiers to carry a tribute to the sultan aboard his vessel and so became the first American, before Beaufort, ever to penetrate this city. This man was making all speed back to the United States, for Bainbridge has been appointed admiral in chief of the American fleet and is mustering all the best ships and men. The war which is coming will be fought at sea at least as much as on land. Beaufort's friend wanted him to go with him, but he insisted on coming here to find you first—"
"And to find his ship, of course," Marianne added gloomily. "If America needs captains for her navy, she will need ships even more. The brig is a well-found vessel, fast and well armed—and she fits Jason like a second skin. It's nice of you to try and sugar the pill for me, Jolival, but it makes me wonder if the prince wasn't right that day when he slammed out of the house saying that if it hadn't been for the Sea Witch he doubted whether we should ever have set eyes on Jason Beaufort again… In spite of all I've heard tonight, I still can't quite get that thought out of my head."
"Then just you stop fidgeting yourself about it. Beaufort is not one to hide his feelings, you know that as well as I do. He has made a clean sweep of all his anger and resentment. What do you care for the international situation as long as you have found happiness again?"
"Happiness?" Marianne murmured. "Aren't you forgetting that if there is a war, Jason will have to fight?"
"My dear girl, our country has been at war for ten years or more but that hasn't prevented a great many women from being happy. Forget the war. Rest and relax, give the prince the son he wants so much and then, if you still want to, we will travel quietly back to Italy together so that you may settle the matter of your future. When that is done, there will be nothing to stop us setting sail for the Carolinas."
Jolival's voice droned on soothingly, only a little thickened by alcohol, but Marianne did not miss the telltale phrase. She picked it up at once.
"If I still want to? Are you mad, Arcadius?"
He smiled rather vaguely and made an evasive gesture.
"Women change their minds," was all he said, and made no attempt to explain himself further.
But how could you explain to a very young woman, in her exhausted and exacerbated state, who had suddenly been given a fresh glimpse of life and happiness in the return of the man she loved, that she knew as yet nothing of the surprises of motherhood? She foresaw it as an ordeal and at the same time as a kind of formality. She did not know that putting out of her life and her mind the child she had never wanted might prove unexpectedly painful.
But it would be a waste of time even to try to bring her face to face with the truth. Not until she held in her arms the tiny living bundle that had been born of her own flesh would Marianne begin to recognize her own reactions to that greatest miracle of all human life, the birth of
a man or woman.
For the time being her face was set stubbornly.
"I shall not change," she declared with the obstinacy of a child.
The last word ended abruptly in a little gasp. The pain had come again, striking without warning and expanding slowly. Jolival, who had been on the point of withdrawing with a philosophic shrug to seek his own bed, stopped suddenly.
"What is it?"
" I—I don't know. A pain—oh, not very bad, but it's the second time and I was wondering—"
She did not finish. Jolival was already out in the passage that separated Marianne's room from Donna Lavinia's, shouting loudly enough to wake the dead.
He'll rouse the whole house, Marianne thought, but she knew by now that she was going to need help and that the time had come for her to fulfill her great task as a woman.
Chapter 6
"I come of a free people…"
MARIANNE had been in labor for more than thirty hours and still the child had not appeared. Donna Lavinia and the doctor stayed with her in her room while she endured the onslaughts of pain with ever-weakening resistance. As the contractions grew more violent she had set herself not to cry out, making it a point of honor with herself to behave with the stoicism proper to a great lady. Scarcely a moan escaped from between her clenched teeth.
But the ordeal had gone on for so long that in the end the incessant torture of it had made her forget all her resolutions. Writhing like a captive animal, her sheets soaked with sweat, she was screaming now without restraint. She had been screaming for hours and her voice was growing fainter. All she wanted was to die quickly and get it over.
Her screams found an echo in the hearts of the two men who waited in the boudoir adjoining her bedchamber.
Jolival stood at the window, biting his nails and staring into space, as though fixed there until the end of time.
Marianne and the Lords of the East Page 14
