Marianne and the Privateer

by Жюльетта Бенцони

  'Is it – is it so bad?'

  'Worse than you can imagine. That is what caused my delay in joining you here. I wanted to learn all I could and for that reason I barely stopped at Valençay. To tell you the truth, my dear, the news is so bad that I scarcely know where to begin.'

  He dropped heavily into a chair with a tired sigh and stretched out his bad leg, which was still stiff from travelling. Then he laid his stick against his knee and passed one long, white hand over his grey face. To Marianne, watching in growing horror, it seemed that the hand trembled a little.

  'For God's sake! Tell me! Tell me just as it comes! Do not spare me. Any torture is better than ignorance. I have been dying by inches here for two whole weeks, knowing nothing! Is it possible that Jason's innocence is still not proved?'

  'His innocence?' Talleyrand said bitterly. 'Each day that passes only serves to plunge him deeper in guilt. If this goes on, we shall have only one course open to us if we are to save him from…' He hesitated.

  'From what?'

  'From the scaffold.'

  Uttering a choking cry, Marianne leapt from her chair as if it had grown suddenly red-hot. Carrying both icy hands to her burning face, she walked up and down the room several times before returning to fall on her knees at the prince's side.

  'There can be nothing worse to say,' she said dully. 'Tell me the whole, now, I beg of you, unless you want me to run mad.'

  Talleyrand put out his hand and gently stroked the girl's smooth hair. He shook his head. The light eyes, in general so cold and mocking, held a look of deep compassion.:

  'I know your courage, Marianne. I will tell you, but you must not stay there. Come, sit here, close by me, on this little sofa, eh?'

  When they were seated side by side on the rush-bottomed sofa by the window looking out on to the gardens, hand in hand, like father and daughter, the Prince of Benevento began his tale.

  The accusation of murder against Jason Beaufort, which had originally been based on the anonymous letter handed to the police and on the testimony of the seaman Perez, who persisted in his story that he had received orders from Jason to remove the body of Nicolas Mallerousse from the billiard-room and throw it into the Seine, was now reinforced by a good deal of further evidence. First, the seaman Jones, whom Perez asserted was to have assisted him in the removal of the murdered man, had been fished out of a backwater at St Cloud two days later. He had been drowned and as there were no marks of violence on his body the police had concluded that in making his escape from Passy Jones had slipped in the darkness on the river bank, rendered unusually greasy by the night's storm, and fallen into the Seine to his death.

  'But that is absurd!' Marianne protested. 'No sailor who fell into the Seine, even in the middle of the night, could fail to swim to safety – especially in summer!'

  'Perez says that his companion could not swim. Jason, on the other hand, insists that Jones was one of his best men and swam like a fish.'

  'And this wretch Perez is believed?'

  'It is apt to go hard with the accused,' Talleyrand said with a sigh, 'and it is all the more unfortunate because by contradicting Perez's lying statements, this Jones might have given the evidence which would have saved our friend. If you ask me, Jones was never in league with this man Perez, whom Beaufort states that he had discharged with a flogging. But whoever arranged our little death trap was not inclined to quibble over one corpse more or less. Besides, I have not come to the end of it. The excise men at Morlaix have searched the holds of the Sea Witch and the cargo they found there has helped to aggravate the case against Jason.'

  Marianne made a little movement of irritation. 'A cargo of champagne and burgundy! There's wickedness for you! Enough to cost a man his head, I'm sure! As for their sacred blockade—'

  'Enough to cost a man his head, indeed,' the diplomat continued quietly, 'when they also find counterfeit money.'

  'C-counterfeit? No – it is not true!'

  'That Jason put it there, no, I don't think that. But that it was discovered is, I am afraid, beyond any doubt. They found about a hundred thousand pounds sterling in Bank of England notes. The notes were, unfortunately, brand new. I tell you, the plot has been well thought out.'

  'Well then, it must be shown up for what it is!' Marianne cried hotly. 'We know, you and I, we know for certain that the crime and everything that has followed is the work of a gang of people well known to the police. Surely, they are the only ones who possess the means to have manufactured these notes, and that is what we have to find: whoever made those notes! Oh, the police must be blind and stone deaf! When I tried to tell the truth to that Inspector Pâques he treated me as if I were practically an idiot, and the Duke of Rovigo refused to listen to me at all.'

  'The Duke of Rovigo is the world's biggest and most obstinate blockhead,' Talleyrand remarked, 'with the possible exception of Monsieur Savary – eh?' However dire the circumstances, he could not, it seemed, resist a witticism, even one that was not altogether new, for he had already made the same comment on the Duke of Bassano. 'Our policeman lives in constant terror of displeasing his idol, the Emperor. But for once, I cannot altogether blame him. Think, my child, of all the weight of evidence against Beaufort, while on your side you have only your private convictions and your word – not the least shadow of proof.'

  'What more have they?' Marianne asked bitterly. 'All their evidence is mere slander, uttered by creatures so wretched that they should be beneath contempt. Besides, I fail to understand why Lord Cranmere and his associates should have gone to all this trouble merely to be revenged on me for getting him arrested. Especially as I am not directed involved in this. The real victim is Jason Beaufort. But why?'

  'Because he is an American.' Talleyrand gave a little sigh. 'My dear child, it desolates me to be obliged to shatter your illusions but your differences with Lord Cranmere are altogether minor matters in this business. They would not, as you so rightly say, have gone to all this trouble merely to be revenged on you. But to bring about a diplomatic incident involving the United States, to tip a situation which had been rendered delicate by the Continental Blockade but which had recently shown some signs of improvement, now that is something which an English spy might find extremely worth while, something which could justify a little trouble.'

  This was the last thing Marianne had expected. It had not before occurred to her that her own affairs might have become involved with international politics. She turned on her companion a look of such total bewilderment and incomprehension that he smiled indulgently and continued: 'Let me explain. In spite of political differences, trade between England and the United States has been resumed since last year. The United States were deeply shocked by the decrees of Berlin and Milan, especially that of Milan by which Napoleon declared all foreign vessels calling at English ports, or even making contact with English vessels, to be lawful prizes. Lord Wellesley has taken advantage of American resentment and early this year huge quantities of English merchandise began entering the United States, greatly to the good of British trade, which had been suffering something of a recession. However President Madison is friendly to France and anxious to see the resumption of good relations with the country of La Fayette, and he would be glad to see the Milan decree repealed, at least so far as the United States is concerned. He has instructed his ambassador in Paris accordingly and John Armstrong has been working along these lines for some weeks past. I know for a fact that he has recently written to Champagny, who replaced me in Foreign Affairs, asking him to name the terms on which the Berlin and Milan decrees might be annulled in relation to the United States. This affair of murder and contraband is aimed much more at nullifying their efforts than at any idea of revenge for Francis Cranmere. You are an excuse, Marianne, and Beaufort a tool.'

  Marianne bowed her head. Cranmere's web had been artistically woven. He had performed his function as a spy for England to admiration and at the same time exercised his remarkable criminal talents by actually extorting mone
y from his victim. Marianne had paid to join Jason in the trap which the Englishman had dug before their feet. She understood now the scale of the means which had been employed and also the curious behaviour of the man Perez in allowing himself to be caught (having been amply paid for his services, no doubt, and given assurances of his personal safety) in order to make quite sure of his former captain's conviction. Now that international interests were involved, Jason's chances had grown very much slimmer.

  'But you mentioned the American ambassador,' she said. 'Can he do nothing for Jason?'

  'Be sure that John Armstrong has already done everything possible but if Beaufort is convicted of espionage and coining, as well as murder, then he can only seek the Emperor's clemency.'

  'The Emperor!' Marianne broke out. 'Yes, what of the Emperor? Why will he not see me, at least? A few moments' audience and he should have known all and Jason would be free!'

  'I am not altogether sure why, Marianne. In such a case as this, the Emperor cannot act until all has been made clear. The matters at stake are too grave. Moreover, he cannot be wholly sorry to teach you a lesson – punish you a little for finding consolation so easily – he is a man, after all, you know. Finally, there is one witness against Beaufort whom Napoleon is forced to consider seriously, if only in the name of common morality, and you know how he cherishes the respectability of his court. The author of the anonymous letter and the seaman Perez may well be scoundrels, but can you say the same of Señora Beaufort?'

  There was a deathly silence in the little room. In her mind, Marianne was echoing Talleyrand's last words, seeking some sense in them other than the immediate, horrifying implication. She found none, and at last she found her voice to ask hoarsely, still trying not to believe what she had heard: 'Are you telling me that—'

  'That Jason's wife has turned against him? Unfortunately, yes. The poor creature is crazed with jealousy and she believes unalterably that you are her husband's mistress. She admits no doubt of her husband's guilt. According to her, and no fury was ever more vehement, Beaufort would be capable of anything where you are concerned, even murder!'

  'But – she is mad! Stark mad! Insane… this is the most criminal folly. After this, dare you look me in the face and tell me that she loves Jason?'

  Talleyrand sighed again as he answered, in his old, cynical tone: 'Perhaps. You see, Marianne, she comes of a fierce and passionate race to whom a betrayal of love can be paid for only in blood, and an injured woman may deliver up her unfaithful lover unflinchingly to execution – and then wall herself up alive in some unrelenting nunnery to spend the remainder of her life in expiation. Yes, Pilar is a dangerous woman and, as ill luck will have it, she knows that Jason loves you. She knew you at the first glance.'

  'Knew me? How could she? She had never seen me.'

  'You think not? I gather the figurehead of the Sea Witch is more than a little like you. Some of these wood-carvers are very skilful, you know – and some husbands remarkably obtuse! But it may be that, knowing their stay was to be a brief one, Jason hoped that Pilar might never have occasion to meet you – or, if she did, might fail to recognize the resemblance.'

  For a moment, Marianne stared at her old friend. She was wholly overcome by this unexpected proof of love and hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry, but in her heart she knew that she had never doubted Jason's love for her. She had always known that he loved her, even when she had driven him away from her that night at Selton, but this simple, almost childlike proof of it touched the deepest and most sensitive chord in her. To think that she had hated that ship, had thrown it at Jason's head continually that he had purchased it from the sale of Selton! And all the time he had made it, as it were, this unexpected extension of Marianne herself…

  She rose quietly and Talleyrand made no move to stop her. He was not looking at her. He was sitting with his chin sunk in the immaculate folds of his neckcloth, absently tracing with the tip of his cane the primitive design of roses decorating the carpet.

  A board creaked as Marianne moved to the window which opened on to a tiny balcony. She had picked up a blue shawl from a chair and hugged it round her shoulders. She felt chilled to the soul, despite the August heat of the sun, but when she leaned on the worn iron balcony rail she was not conscious of any warmth.

  Outside, everything rejoiced in the tranquil beauty of a fine summer's day. From next door, young Charlotte's voice could be heard chanting in clear tones one of the rhyming games that children love. Farther off, by the pump, three women in blue skirts and flowered petticoats were chattering away to one another in the local patois, now and then bursting into shrieks of laughter. They wore the charming costume of the region with easy grace and their rosy faces glowed with happiness under their complicated double headdresses made up of a frilled cap surmounted by a coquettish little hat cocked up before and behind and known delightfully as 'à deux bonjours'. Some children were playing at quoits under a tree and the Prince of Benevento's grooms were leading the coach horses away to the stables, while in the distance could be seen a rather touchingly old-fashioned sedan chair with drawn curtains, conveying some invisible curiste to or from the baths. On all these things the sun poured down his golden beams. Only Marianne seemed excluded, and she wondered why, even in this scene of rural peace where everyone was happy, she should have to bear such a weight of grief and suffering. She had believed that she was pitted only against a handful of villains, the stupidity of the police and Napoleon's displeasure. Instead, she found herself at the centre of a vast and dangerous political intrigue in which neither she nor Jason counted for anything. It was rather as if she had been condemned to imprisonment for eternity and could look out at the world of the living only through the bars of a dungeon. Perhaps the truth was that she was not fashioned for such a world. The world to which she belonged was one of fury and violence that would not allow her to live in peace. It was to that world she must return.

  She turned from the balcony and went quickly back to Talleyrand, who had been watching her attentively through half-closed eyes. She met his light blue gaze steadily:

  'I am going back. I must see this woman, speak to her. I have to make her understand—'

  'What? That you love her husband as much as he loves you? Do you really think that will make her change her mind? This Pilar is like a rock. Besides, you will not get near her. She has the whole of the Queen of Spain's guard to protect her, and if I know Julie Clary she will be only too delighted to play the queen for the benefit of the only one of her subjects who has ever asked for her assistance. At Mortefontaine, Pilar is surrounded, hemmed in by ladies- and gentlemen-in-waiting who are more effective than any castle walls. She has asked never to be left alone and her request has been granted. No visitors. No messages even, unless they are addressed to the queen. Do you think,' Talleyrand said wearily, 'do you think I have not tried? I was politely shown the door. What chance would you have? Your reputation is, to say the least, unlikely to recommend you to those pious ladies!'

  'Never mind. I shall go just the same… at night, in disguise… I'll climb the walls if I have to. But I must see Pilar! It is unthinkable that no one should try and make her see reason, make her realize that her attitude is sheer wickedness.'

  'I believe her to be quite aware of that. She simply does not care. When Jason has paid for his crime, then she will expiate her own, that is all.'

  'To her, the worst crime is to betray herself.' It was a new voice, speaking from the doorway. Marianne and the prince both turned at once and for the first time for many days, Marianne uttered a cry of pure joy:

  'Jolival! At last.'

  In her delight at seeing her faithful friend once again, she ran to him impulsively and flung both her arms round his neck and kissed him resoundingly on both cheeks like a little girl, heedless of the fact that the said cheeks had not seen a razor for two days and that Arcadius himself was quite dreadfully dirty.

  'Eh, well!' The prince extended a hand to the new arrival. 'You
could certainly not have come at a better moment. I was very nearly out of arguments to dissuade this young lady from indulging in the most precipitate piece of foolishness. She wishes to go back to Paris.'

  'I know. I heard,' Jolival said gloomily, flinging himself down without ceremony in a chair which groaned under the shock. 'But she must not go back to Paris, for two reasons. The first is that her house is being closely watched. The Emperor knows her very well and he would rather make it impossible for her to disobey him than be obliged to punish her. The second is that her absence is the one thing which might serve to calm that Spanish woman's temper a little. Queen Julie must have put it to her that by sending his former favourite away, Napoleon is paying tribute to the virtue of Beaufort's wronged spouse.'

  'Nothing—!' Marianne muttered grittily.

  'Possibly. But your return, my dear, would unleash a pack of troubles. Monsieur Beaufort may be in prison but even there he is under close watch by his wife's friends, and in particular by one Don Alonzo Vasquez who seems to have heard something of the estates in Florida and to have ambitions to restore them to the Spanish flag.'

  'Good heavens, Arcadius!' Marianne exclaimed. 'Wherever did you learn all this?'

  'At Mortefontaine, my love, at Mortefontaine where I have been spying quite unblushingly on your foe while ostensibly engaged in pruning Queen Julie's roses, after a fashion. Yes, for your sake I have been the Queen of Spain's gardener for three whole days!'

  Talleyrand smiled slightly. 'I suppose it did not occur to you that one does not prune roses in July, eh?'

  'That was why I stayed no more than three days. The head gardener tired of my efforts and suggested I take my talents elsewhere for employment. But if you want to hear any more, for pity's sake give me a bath and a meal! I'm choked with heat and dust, and half-dead of hunger and thirst as well. I can't decide which to die of first.'