Marianne's elderly cousin had told her about those massacres. She had seen them from her hiding place in a garret of her own house. She had told of the ghastly death of the gentle Princesse de Lamballe. The story returned to Marianne's mind now in all its hideous detail and she could not repress a shudder of superstitious horror at the fate which seemed to be drawing Jason Beaufort inexorably along the same path as that taken by the martyred princess. He had gone so quickly from her house to what had been her prison. And had not Marianne herself heard her ghost weeping in the house where Madame de Lamballe had sought oblivion from a king's ingratitude? To Marianne's impressionable and highly sensitive mind it seemed a warning of disaster. What if Jason, too, were to leave La Force only to go to his death?
Such thoughts as these, combined with her own utter powerlessness to aid her friend and what she thought of as the Emperor's cruelty, did nothing to improve her spirits. By the time she reached Bourbon two days later, Marianne had not slept since she left Paris and had eaten only a little bread sopped in milk. She was in such a state of depression that she had to be put to bed as soon as she arrived.
Bourbon-l'Archambault was, however, a very attractive little city. It stood at the heel of a large lake through which a bustling river ran and its pink and white houses were piled in the shade of a mighty spur of rock on which had once stood the seventeen proud towers – now reduced to three – of the dukes of Bourbon. The town had been rich, powerful and extremely busy in the day of the Grand Rot, Louis XIV, when the choice spirits of the court came there to nurse their rheumatic ailments. But here, too, the Terror had passed. The shades of the poet Scarron, of Madame de Sévigné and the Marquise de Montespan who had there made a good end to a dubious life had melted into the mists along the Allier, while the towers of the chateau fell and house and chapel along with them.
But Marianne had no eyes for the three surviving towers, mirrored so prettily in the shimmering waters of the lake, nor for the fair hills cradling the town, nor even for the country folk in their becoming, picturesque costumes who crowded curiously round the elegant berline with its steaming horses.
She was accommodated in the Pavilion Sévigné, in the room which had been that of the irresistible marquise, but neither Agathe's care nor the respectful and benevolent welcome accorded her by the proprietor of the establishment could rouse Marianne from the black mood into which she had allowed herself to sink. There was only one thing she wanted, and that was to sleep, to sleep for as long as humanly possible, until someone came to her with news of Jason. It was no use to talk to her of the charms of the countryside or of anything else: she was deaf, dumb and blind to everything around her. She simply waited.
A fortnight passed in this way. It was a strange period because it was one which in after days disappeared altogether from Marianne's memory, so intense was her determination to withdraw from life, to make one moment so like another that they would blend into a single unvarying stream. No one was admitted to her presence and the physicians of the place especially were hard put to it to know what to make of this strange visitor.
The spell was broken by the arrival of Talleyrand, which brought a new spate of activity to the little town and an unexpected annoyance to Marianne. She had been expecting the prince to bring with him only a small suite, consisting perhaps of a secretary and his valet, Courtiade. However, when the house next door began filling up with large numbers of people, she was obliged to admit that she and Talleyrand held widely differing ideas on the subject of what constituted a suitably princely retinue. Whereas the Princess Sant' Anna was content with her maid and her coachman, the Prince of Benevento brought with him an army of indoor and outdoor servants, his cook, his secretaries, his adopted daughter Charlotte with her tutor, Monsieur Fercoc, as short-sighted as ever, his brother Boson, ten years his junior but deaf as a post, and lastly his wife. From time to time, also, there were guests in addition.
It was the princess's arrival which gave Marianne the greatest astonishment. Although at the Hôtel Matignon, Talleyrand endeavoured to be as little as possible in his wife's company, and although with the arrival of fine weather he generally packed her off to rusticate in her own little château at Pont-de-Seine, in which he himself never set foot, greatly preferring the society of the Duchess of Courland and the pleasures of her summer residence at Saint-Germain, he regularly, without fail, brought his wife to Bourbon.
She was to learn that this was a tradition instituted by Talleyrand in the belief that the least he could do was to spend three weeks in the summer in the by no means exclusive company of his wife. Marianne was touched, also, by the welcome she received from her one-time employer, who kissed her warmly as soon as she set eyes on her and showed a genuine delight in seeing her again.
'I have heard of your troubles, child,' she told her, 'and I want to assure you that you have my full sympathy and support.'
'You are much too good, Princess, and this is not the first time I have had cause to know it. It is a great comfort to know that one has friends.'
'In this hole, of all places,' the princess agreed with a sigh. 'It is enough to make one die of boredom, but the prince insists that these three weeks do an immense amount of good to the whole household. Ah, when shall we be able to return to our summers at Valençay!' The last words were uttered in an undertone, to keep them from her husband's ears.
Residence at Valençay had in fact been strictly forbidden ever since the chateau and the romantic setting, having been made the enforced home of the Infants of Spain, had encouraged an idyllic affair between the mistress of the house and the good-looking Duke of San Carlos. Matters might have gone no further had Napoleon not seen fit to advise Talleyrand personally of his misfortune, and in terms of such coarseness that they had provided a gold mine for unkind tongues. Talleyrand had been obliged to act and the poor princess was inconsolable at the loss of her private paradise.
Leaving the princess to settle in, amid a great banging of doors, bumping of boxes, clattering of feet and calling for servants, all of which proceeded under the interested gaze of about fifty of the local inhabitants, who had assembled about the big travelling coaches, Talleyrand accompanied Marianne back to her own house on the excuse of assuring himself that she was comfortably installed there. But scarcely was the rustic door of her little sitting-room closed behind them than the carefree smile faded from the prince's face and Marianne noted with alarm the lines of worry on his forehead and the way his shoulders suddenly seemed to sag wearily.
'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 h
air. 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 money 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?'
'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…
[Marianne 3] - Marianne and the Privateer Page 18
