'That doctor may not be as bad as you think, my lady,' she said. 'I met him just now and he gave me this. He said you should feel better very quickly.'
'He doesn't know what's the matter with me,' Marianne said faintly. 'How can he make me better?'
'I don't know but he assured me it was a certain cure for the seasickness and disorders of the stomach. You never know… the medicine might do you good, my lady. You ought to try it.'
Marianne hesitated for a moment, then she dragged herself painfully upright among her pillows and held out her hand.
'Give it to me, then,' she sighed. 'You may be right. In any case, I feel so ill that I'd be glad to accept poison from the Borgias themselves! Anything rather than go on like this!'
Agathe made her mistress as comfortable as she could and sponged her clammy forehead with a cloth soaked in eau-de-Cologne before putting the glass to her lips.
Marianne sipped cautiously, half-convinced that she would not be able to keep the potion down for five minutes. She drained the glass to the last drop, all the same, and, amazingly, felt no trace of nausea.
It had a queer taste, faintly bitter yet sweetish, but not unpleasant. There was some kind of spirit in it which burned a little as it went down but revived her. Gradually, the spasms of nausea that had racked her for the past two days diminished and finally ceased altogether, leaving only a profound sense of exhaustion and a longing for sleep.
Marianne's eyelids drooped irresistibly but, before she closed her eyes, she smiled with sleepy gratitude at Agathe, who was watching her anxiously from the foot of the bed.
'You were quite right, Agathe. I feel much better. I think I'll sleep now. You get some rest as well, but go and thank Doctor Leighton first. I must have misjudged him, you know, and now I'm ashamed.'
'Oh, there's nothing to be ashamed about,' Agathe said. 'He may be a good doctor but I'll never manage to bring myself to like him. Besides, it's his job to tend the sick. But don't worry, my lady, I'll go.'
Agathe found John Leighton on the forecastle in low-toned converse with Arroyo. Since she liked the boatswain no better than the doctor, she waited for him to go away before delivering her message. When she thanked the doctor on her mistress's behalf, she was bewildered to see him laugh.
'What's so funny about that?' she demanded indignantly. 'It's very nice of my lady to say thank you! You were only doing your job, after all!'
'As you say,' Leighton agreed. 'I was only doing my job. I do not need her thanks.'
Turning his back upon the abigail, he went away aft, still laughing. Agathe flounced back to the cabin to tell her mistress but found Marianne sleeping so peacefully that she had not the heart to wake her. So she tidied the cabin, let in some fresh air and then went to bed herself, with the satisfaction of a job well done.
Dawn was just breaking when there came a violent hammering on the cabin door, waking Marianne with a start. Agathe, who had taken the precaution of leaving her own door ajar, woke also. Although in general a heavy sleeper, she had been sleeping remarkably lightly since coming on board and now she tumbled out of bed in a moment, still half in a dream, and crying out in terror: 'What is it? What's happened? Oh, Lord, we're sinking!'
'I don't think so, Agathe,' Marianne said calmly, propping herself up on her elbow. 'It is only someone banging on the door. Don't open it. It's probably some drunken sailor.'
The blows were redoubled and in a moment they heard Jason's voice shouting furiously:
'Are you going to open this damned door or do I have to break it down?'
'Oh, Lord, my lady!' wailed Agathe. 'It's Monsieur Beaufort! He sounds ever so angry, too… What do you think he wants?'
Jason undoubtedly sounded beside himself with fury and there was a note in the harsh, thickened voice which sent a thrill of fear down Marianne's spine.
'I don't know, but we'll have to let him in, Agathe,' she said. 'He'll do as he says and if we let him break the door down it will only make matters worse.'
The shivering Agathe put a shawl over her nightgown and went to open it. She had barely time to flatten herself against the bulkhead before it was flung back in her face and Jason burst into the room like a cannon shot. At the sight of him, Marianne let out a scream.
In the red glow of the rising sun, he looked like a devil. His hair was standing on end, his neckcloth hanging loose and his shirt unfastened to the waist, and he had the brick-red complexion and glassy eyes of a man in the last stages of drunkenness. Drunk he certainly was, and Marianne's nostrils quivered at the heavy odour of rum that filled the cabin.
Yet she was suddenly too frightened to have any thought to spare for being ill. Never had she seen Jason in such a state. There was madness in his eyes and he was grinding his teeth as he advanced on her with terrible slowness.
Agathe, equally terrified but ready to defend her mistress at all costs, tried to fling herself between them. One glance at his tensely-working fingers had convinced her that he meant to strangle Marianne, a conviction that her mistress fully shared. But Jason seized her ruthlessly by the shoulders and propelled her, heedless of her protests, out of the cabin and locked the door on her. Then he turned back to Marianne who was shrinking back against the wall behind her cot, trying desperately to press herself bodily into the silk and mahogany furnishings. She read her death in Jason's eyes.
'You, Marianne…' he snarled, 'you are with child?'
She uttered a cry of terror, denial springing automatically to her lips:
'No! No, it's not true…'
'Come, come! That was it, wasn't it? Your fainting and your sickness and your upset stomach! You're big with child, by God knows who! But I mean to know… I'm going to find out whose bed you've wallowed in now! Who was it this time, eh? That Corsican lieutenant of yours? The Duke of Padua? Your phantom husband, or your Emperor? Answer me! By God, I'll make you speak!'
He had one knee on the bed and his hands round Marianne's throat were forcing her back among the tumbled sheets, but his grip had relaxed.
'You're mad!' she croaked at him in terror. 'Who told you this?'
'Who? Why Leighton, of course! You felt better, didn't you, after his potion? But you don't know what it was he dosed you with. It's what they give to pregnant negresses on board the slavers to keep them alive until the voyage ends. They can't afford to let them die, you see, not when it's two lives for the price of one!'
Marianne was filled with an overriding horror that made her forget her fear for a moment. It was Jason saying these horrible things, using these foul words! With a supple movement, she jerked herself free and crouched back in the corner of the alcove, hands up to protect her throat.
'On board the slavers! Are you telling me you've dealt in that filthy trade?'
'Why not? It's hugely profitable!'
'So – that smell?'
'Aha! You noticed it? It's true, it clings. There's no amount of scrubbing can quite get rid of it. Yet I only carried black ivory the once – to oblige a friend. But we weren't talking of what I've done, but of you. I swear to you I mean to make you talk!'
He pounced on her again, dragging her out of her refuge, trying to get his hands round her neck once more. But by now anger and disappointment had come to Marianne's aid. She hit him, hard, sending him staggering back off the bunk, the alcohol in his system impairing his balance, to crash heavily into a chair which broke under his weight.
There was a fresh knocking on the door and Jolival's voice made itself heard. Marianne guessed that Agathe must have run to him for help.
'Open up, Beaufort!' called the Vicomte. 'I must speak to you.'