Marianne and the Privateer

She saw from her old friend's suddenly glowing look that she had guessed right and was touched to discover Arcadius in something remarkably like a secret fondness.

Stepping quickly into Arcadius's room, Marianne shut the door carefully and locked it. Then she sat down to recover her breath. Her heart was beating wildly, as if this were some stranger's room which she had come to burgle. She was afraid, without altogether knowing why. Perhaps it was simply because, wherever he was, Francis Cranmere brought with him an atmosphere of menace. Her one thought, now, was to get rid of him. Then she would be able to run to Jason and warn him of this mysterious peril she had paid so dearly to discover.

When her nerves had steadied a little, Marianne extracted the key to the safe from the tiny hiding place hollowed out of the solid mahogany bedpost and concealed by part of the ormolu decoration which moved on a pivot. Next, making for a particular spot on the wall, she selected one of the palmettes in the plaster moulding and pressed it, whereupon a section of the green silken panelling slid aside to reveal a metal safe. Inside, were stacked a number of jewel cases, several bundles of Bank of France notes and two bags of gold coins. Without hesitation, Marianne took out three bundles of notes, put two aside and counted the third, Then, after returning some of its contents to the safe, she locked the door with care, closed the panel and, putting the key back in its hiding place, left the room, clutching what she could not help thinking of as Jason's ransom money. The house was still utterly quiet. The servants, in their own quarters, and Agathe, in her little room next to that of her mistress, were all fast asleep, quite unconscious of the drama which was being played out under their mistress's roof. But not for anything in the world would Marianne have had the servants know anything about it.

When Francis Cranmere saw the notes in Marianne's hands, he frowned:

'I should have preferred gold.'

'I dare say you might, but I do not keep such a sum in gold about me. And do not tell me you do not know a banker who will change them for you. Your friend Baring in London, for instance.'

'You know about him, then?'

'I know a great many things. Such as how it comes about that you were able to run free in Paris when Fouché was Minister of Police. But Fouché is no longer in power—'

'And I, therefore, cannot afford to linger. Give me the notes. I will manage somehow.'

Marianne whipped both hands swiftly behind her back, laying the notes down on a small table behind her:

'One moment! You shall have them when you go. But first, tell me what you know.'

Her heart missed a beat. Francis's eyes, fixed on the money, had narrowed to thin, grey slits. His face was flushed and she knew that the greed of riches was on him once again. There was nothing to prevent him attacking her, wresting the money from her and escaping with it. Perhaps, after all, he had no information for her…

Scarcely knowing what she did, she sprang towards a valuable marquetry cabinet, wrenched open the box which stood upon it and drew out one of the two loaded duelling pistols that lay within upon a bed of crimson plush. Levelling the weapon at Francis, she said grimly: 'If you lay a finger on that money before you have told me what you know, you will never reach that door alive. You know I never miss my aim.'

'What ails you now? I do not mean to rob you. What I have to say can be said in a very few words.'

This was true. The sum of it was that on the following night, Jason was engaged to visit Quintin Crawfurd in the rue d'Anjou, ostensibly to inspect his celebrated collection of paintings, in reality to meet a messenger from Fouché who, although at present in exile, was in no way reconciled to his loss of power and determined to retrieve his position by any means, even including high treason. Two fanatical royalists, the Chevalier de Bruslart – who was already well known to Marianne – and the Baron de Vitrolles, would also be there.

'Savary has been informed,' Cranmere went on, 'and all four men will be quietly apprehended before they even set foot over Crawfurd's threshold, taken to Vincennes and shot before daybreak.'

Marianne started. 'You are out of your mind! Execute four men without trial, without the express command of the Emperor!'

Francis's handsome face twisted into a mocking smile:

'Have you forgotten Savary was the man who assassinated the Duc d'Enghien? Bonaparte is at Compiègne and this time those concerned are enemy agents.'

'Jason an enemy agent? Who do you think will believe that?'

'Why – you, my dear. Like a good many other sensible men, he is of the opinion that peace with England is necessary for a host of reasons, chief of which is the good of trade. This peace will be made with or without Boney. King Louis XVIII is wholly committed to it.'

Sheer, cold rage overcame Marianne. She resented it as a personal insult that anyone should associate Jason, the man she loved, with those devious and unscrupulous politicians who, entirely for their own ends, were ready to overthrow empires and set up no matter what wretched puppet on a still reeking throne:

'There is just one thing you may not be aware of, Jason both likes and admires Napoleon. Have you forgotten that he is here in an official capacity, on behalf of his government?'

'Precisely. A most useful position. And have you forgotten that Beaufort is perennially short of money? I should have thought that we had both of us good cause to know that!'

'He is not the only one—'

'Have you forgotten,' Francis went on, ignoring the interruption, 'the circumstances of your first meeting with him, at Selton in England – as one of the intimates of the Prince of Wales? What better proof do you need? The English privateer which he so opportunely let slip just recently on the excuse that America was not at war with England, that privateer was on her way from Spain carrying important despatches from the Duke of Wellington, which His Lordship had judged it wiser to entrust to a fast vessel. And yet the Sea Witch is unusually well armed for a merchantman, far outweighing the Revenge, and she is swifter, too. Are you convinced?'

Marianne could not bring herself to answer. She looked away. Naturally, she could not blame Jason for placing his own country's interests before those of France, but the thought that he could come back to France under cover of friendship, be received by the Emperor, treated as an honoured guest, and at the same time conspire with the French ruler's worst enemies, was unbearable to her. But there was no denying there was something in what Francis said. Before meeting with Napoleon, Jason had undoubtedly been on friendly terms with the Prince of Wales, even to the point of making one of his intimate circle.

After revolving the matter in her mind for a moment, she said: There is one thing I do not understand. You have come here to sell me information which can save Monsieur Beaufort – but this information does not concern him only. What about Crawfurd – and the others?'

'If Crawfurd has enemies, he will find his own way of dealing with them,' Francis said with a short laugh. 'If Savary has got wind of the matter, the source of his information is not far to seek.'

'You mean…'

'That Crawfurd is very agreeably situated in Paris. He is no longer a young man and no doubt values his peace far more than the convictions for which he may well feel, and with good reason, that he has made sufficient sacrifice of his purse and person in the past. You need not worry, Crawfurd can have nothing to fear. As for the others, I will take care of them.'