Francis, meanwhile, had calmly drunk the rest of his champagne before turning his attention to the small writing desk which stood between the two windows, open on to the dark garden. From among the papers that littered the table top, he picked up a gold and jade seal which Marianne used to seal her letters, and stood for a moment, contemplating the device engraved upon it.
'A cordial understanding, naturally,' he said at last. 'And also something in the nature of a defensive alliance. You have nothing more to fear from me, Marianne. Our marriage is over. You have a new husband and the name you bear now is among the greatest in Europe. I can only congratulate you. To me, fate has proved less generous. I am obliged to live like a hunted man, hidden in the shadows, and all in the service of a country which pays me very ill for my pains. My life is—'
'The usual life of a spy!' Marianne cut him short. This new, mild and strangely generous Francis made her nervous and deeply suspicious. He gave a little smile that did not reach his eyes.
'You are not easily softened, are you? Well, so be it. The life of a spy. But it is one which enables me to find out many things, hear of many secrets which may, I think, be of some interest to you.'
'Politics do not interest me, Francis, and now, more than ever, I intend to keep clear of them. The best thing you can do is to leave this house at once – before I forget that I once bore your name and remember only that you are an enemy of my country and my sovereign.'
Francis flung up his hands. 'Amazing! A proper little Bonapartist! And you, an aristocrat! Although they always say there's nothing like sharing a pillow to smooth away hostile feelings, don't they? Don't worry, I did not come to talk to you about politics of that kind. You are not interested, very well. But are you interested in what touches Beaufort?'
'What makes you think I should be interested in Monsieur Beaufort?' Marianne asked with a shrug.
'Oh no, Marianne, don't play that line with me. I know women, and I know you better than you think. You are not only interested in Beaufort, you are in love with him. And he loves you, for all he thought himself in honour bound to marry that sour-faced shrew. The way the two of you were glaring at each other just now was enough for anyone watching you with their eyes open. So now stop beating about the bush. Tomorrow, Beaufort will be in great danger. All I want to know is, do you want to save him or not?'
'If you are referring to the duel—'
'No, I am not. Good God, should I have put myself out for the sake of a duel? I should think Beaufort is the best swordsman in the whole of America. When I tell you he is in danger, I mean really in danger.'
'Then why not go and tell him so?'
'Because he would not listen to me. And also because he would not pay to find out what danger threatens him. Whereas you will certainly pay… won't you, Marianne?'
Marianne said nothing, rendered speechless with anger and stupefaction. At the same time, she was aware of a curious feeling of relief. This new aspect of Francis had worried her. There was something there which did not go with his real nature. Now she found herself back on familiar ground. He had not changed. It was like him to think of coming to her to bargain for a friend's safety. She could not resist letting him see her thoughts.
'I thought he was your friend?' she said with contempt. 'Not that friendship can mean much to you, of course.'
'My friend? That is a large claim… The fact of having lost a fortune to a man does not constitute the greatest bond of affection in the world. And these are no times for sentiment. Now, how much will you give me in return for what I know?'
There was excitement, ill-concealed, behind the words and Marianne eyed him with distaste. He was young, undeniably handsome and, at first sight, extremely prepossessing in his fashionably cut coat of dark green velvet. His fair hair was brushed into the style most becoming to his almost too perfect features and his slender hands were very nearly as white and well shaped as those of Cardinal San Lorenzo himself. The grey eyes might be cold and unemotional but his smile was full of charm. And yet the soul which animated this pretty gentleman was a chilling quagmire, a desperate quicksand of selfishness, cruelty, deceit and wickedness. It was a soul its owner would have sold without hesitation for a handful of gold. 'And to think that I loved him!' Marianne thought, sickened. 'To think that for months he seemed to me the incarnation of every hero of romance, all the knights of the Round Table rolled into one! To think that Aunt Ellis believed him to be the paragon of all virtues! It's laughable…'
But at all costs she must keep calm, even, and indeed especially, if she was beginning to feel the creeping onset of real fear. She knew Cranmere too well now not to know that he never uttered idle threats. There was undoubtedly a dreadful truth at the base of this bargain he was trying to drive, and it was Jason who would pay for it if she failed to pay up. And now that Francis had discovered her love for Beaufort, he would not easily let go. Marianne clenched her hands hard behind her back to keep her nerves from betraying her, but her face showed no trace of emotion as she said: 'And what if I decline to pay?'
'Then I shall keep my information to myself. But I do not think that we shall come to that, shall we? Suppose we say… twenty-five thousand pounds? A reasonable figure, I think?'
'Reasonable? You have the most astonishing effrontery! Do you take me for the Bank of France?'
'Don't be tiresome, Marianne. I know that you have made a very wealthy marriage and twenty-five thousand pounds is nothing to you. Indeed, if the need for money were less pressing I should have been a little more demanding, but I am obliged to leave Paris at dawn. So, enough of this prevarication. Will you or will you not hear what I have to tell you of the threat to Beaufort? I swear to you that if you do not, tomorrow at this time he will be dead.'
A thrill of horror shot up Marianne's spine. She had a sudden picture of a world without Jason and knew that if that were to be, then nothing should prevent her from joining him in death. What was money beside such a disaster: money which for Francis Cranmere was supreme felicity and for Marianne was less than nothing. It was true that ever since her marriage the Prince Sant'Anna's agents had been holding vast sums at her disposal. She bent on Francis a glance heavy with dislike:
'Wait for me a moment. I will go and fetch the money.'
As she made her way to the door, Cranmere frowned and put out a hand as though to stop her. She gave him an icy smile:
'What are you afraid of? That I shall scream for help and have you arrested? In that event, nothing, I should imagine, could save Jason Beaufort.'
'Nothing, certainly. Go, then. I will wait for you.'
Marianne never kept money in her own apartments. It was Arcadius de Jolival, formerly her impresario, now promoted to her man of business with her elevation to the status of princess, who took care of all such matters. There was a safe built into the wall of his room which always contained a considerable sum in cash, along with Marianne's jewels. Only he and Marianne herself possessed keys to it. Now, having first assured herself that Francis was not, after all, following her, she made her way to Arcadius's room.
Arcadius was away. He had announced his intention of leaving Paris to take the waters at Aix-la-Chapelle, the one-time capital of the Emperor Charlemagne being famed throughout Europe for its warm baths and mineral springs. When Marianne had expressed some surprise at this sudden desire to take a cure and inquired anxiously after his health, Arcadius had promptly declared himself to be racked with rheumatic pains and within an ace of losing his voice most irrecoverably. Whereupon Marianne had immediately expressed complete understanding and had confined herself to wishing him a good journey, adding at the last moment: 'Oh, and give Adelaide a kiss from me. And tell her how much I miss her. If she could come home…'