This was her second journey to Passy. When she had reached the house that morning, determined to see Jason, even if only for a moment, at the cost of whatever scene might be necessary, in order to warn him, she had found the house shuttered and closed. A Swiss porter in carpet slippers, grumpy and half-asleep, had appeared eventually in response to Gracchus's repeated summons on the bell and told them in his heavily accented French that there was no one at home. Mr and Mrs Beaufort were at Mortefontaine, having gone there straight from the theatre.[1] The sight of a gold coin did however induce the man to admit that the American was to return that evening. Marianne turned back, disappointed, sorry for once that she had not taken Francis's advice. But then, she had to admit, it was unlike him to be telling the truth.
Tired though she was as a result of her sleepless night and the pain of her injured side, which was making her slightly feverish, she was unable to rest. She had wandered about like a lost soul between her own room and the garden, and running into the salon a hundred times to look at the exquisitely decorated bronze enamelled clock there. The only event which occurred in the whole of that endless day was a visit from the police inspector who came to ask some embarrassed but persistent and distinctly leading questions concerning that morning's duel. Marianne had stuck to Fournier's story, that it had not been a duel, but the man had gone away visibly dissatisfied.
The chaise had now passed out of the Cours la Reine and was travelling at a smart pace along the tree-shaded length of the Grand Chemin de Versailles, following the river Seine in the direction of the Barrière de la Conférence. There was a slight hold-up as they came to the massive building works around the Pont d'Iena, now nearing completion, on account of a load of stone which had been overturned at some time during the day and which was still partly blocking the road. But Gracchus, swearing like a trooper, had succeeded in circumventing the obstacle, coming perilously near overturning the chaise in the process, and, touching up the horses with a quick flourish of his whip, set them speeding towards the barrier.
It was quite dark by the time they reached the first houses of the village of Passy, a darkness rendered thicker and more menacing by the storm clouds still rolling up like billows of black smoke. No lights showed through the dense mass of bushes which overhung every gateway except for a dim, yellow glimmer from a small house tucked in beside a pair of double gates, which indicated that the porter of the sugar-beet refinery owned by the banker Benjamin Delessert was at his post. A little bit farther on, the old spring gardens of Passy, once filled with noise and animation, presented a blank, dark front, a heavy stillness in which even the trees seemed petrified.
Gracchus took a right-hand turning and edged his horses into a road ascending in a gentle slope between the Jardin des Eaux and the wall of some large property. At the far end, elegant gilt lanterns hung from black iron stanchions illumined the tall gates and twin lodges guarding the entrance to the Hôtel de Lamballe. Marianne, however, stopped her chaise half-way up the slope and told Gracchus to wait with it where he would be as far out of sight as possible. In answer to his surprised question, she said: 'I want to try and get into the house without being seen.'
'But, this morning…'
'This morning it was broad daylight and it would have been folly to attempt secrecy. It is dark now, and late, and I wish my presence in the house to remain unknown, if that is at all possible. To have it known would only result in awkwardness for everyone, and especially for Mr Beaufort.' She thought as she spoke of the jealous Pilar's reaction should she ever hear that Jason had been visited by a woman at night, in her absence, and that woman Marianne.
She saw Gracchus shift uncomfortably, not meeting her eyes, and realized that he was thinking of something quite different and believed that this was a lovers' assignation. She lost no time in explaining matters:
'Jason is in great danger tonight, Gracchus, a danger from which I alone can save him. That is why I have to go in there. Will you help me?'
'Help you save Monsieur Jason? I should just think I will!' The eagerness in his voice gave Marianne the measure of his relief. 'But it'll not be easy. The walls are high and the gates pretty stout. There is an entrance giving on to the Versailles road but…'
'I noticed this morning that there is a little door somewhere about here. Do you think you could open it?'
'What with? I've only my bare hands, an' if I try to force it—'
'With this.' As she spoke, Marianne produced a picklock from the soft, dark green silken folds of her cloak and put it into her coachman's hand. Gracchus, feeling the shape of the tool in his palm, gave vent to a muffled exclamation:
'Ah! That's the ticket. But where—'
'Hush. Never you mind,' said Marianne, who had found the implement in Jolival's little collection. Like the late king, Louis XVI, the Vicomte Arcadius had always been something of an amateur locksmith and kept a pretty little bag of tools in his room which might have laid a less respectable man open to some suspicion. 'Do you think you could open the door with that?'
'It'll be child's play – so long as it's not barred on the inside,' Gracchus assured her. 'Just you wait and see.'
'Wait! Go up to the gate quietly first and see if there are any lights in the house. And see if you can see a carriage or horses in the drive. I know Mr Beaufort was expecting a visitor at about eight, he may still be there.'
Gracchus nodded by way of an answer and taking off his hat and livery coat laid both articles inside the chaise, which he then moved to a position alongside the spa gardens where it was overhung by the branches of a huge tree. Having once made sure that the chaise was more or less invisible to anyone not actually looking for it, he turned and made his way up the road to the gates, making no more noise than a cat.
Marianne's eyes had grown sufficiently accustomed to the darkness by this time to enable her to make out the little side door. She went towards it and, having made sure that it was indeed locked, settled down in the angle of the wall to wait for Gracchus.
It was still stiflingly hot but the storm was on its way. There was a dull rumble of thunder away to the south and once a flash of still distant lightning illumined for an instant the watery ribbon of the Seine. Somewhere not far off, probably in the little church of Notre-Dame des Graces, a clock struck nine and Marianne's heart thudded in her breast in agonized counterpoint. She was beset by vague and terrible fears. What if Jason had not returned to Mortefontaine before going to Crawfurd's house? Suppose the meeting Francis had spoken of had been cancelled – or Jason had already set out, against all expectation, contrary to all Cranmere's supposed information? Suppose that tomorrow in the ditch at Vincennes…
The picture which Marianne's imagination conjured up was so real and so hideous that it was all she could do to bite back a groan. She leaned against the wall, shivering and trying to cool her burning forehead by pressing it to the cool stone. She was not yet fully recovered from her recent illness and the brutal treatment to which Chernychev had subjected her the night before had not improved matters, but at the thought of the man whom she now hated with all her heart she felt her courage revive and, fumbling for her handkerchief, began automatically wiping away the sweat which poured down her face. The cool freshness of the eau-de-Cologne which she had sprinkled liberally over it before she came out did her good, and then Gracchus was coming back.
1
1. Performances in the Paris theatres began and ended much earlier in those days, enabling patrons to return home to outlying districts.