Clinging to the quarterdeck rail beside Sir James, who was taking it all in with worldly, unastonished eyes, Marianne stared about her at the vast, pullulating harbour like a blue tongue poked in between two different worlds.
To the left were the colourful, picturesque ships of the Ottoman Empire, tied up to the quays of Stamboul. Facing them, at the Galata moorings, were the ranked vessels from the west: black Genoese, Dutch and English, the multicoloured pennons decking their bare yards like so much fruit left unpicked by a careless gardener.
On either shore swarmed the busy crowds who, directly or indirectly, won their livelihood from the sea: seamen, customs-men, brokers, scribes, agents of merchants or foreign embassies, porters, stevedores, tradesmen and shopkeepers, and, everywhere, the tall felt hats and military figures of the janissaries of the port police.
Boatloads of men tugged furiously at the sweeps to tow the three-decker ponderously to her anchorage. At the same moment, a barge manned by hard-hatted English seamen put out from the shore and came to meet her. Upright in the stern was a very tall, thin, fair man, dressed with immense elegance. His arms were folded on his chest, and a flowing, light-coloured cloak blew about him.
At the sight of him, Sir James gave a start of surprise.
'Well, God bless my soul! It's the ambassador!'
Marianne was startled out of her own contemplation.
'What?'
'It would seem, my dear, that our two troublemakers must have rather more influence than we thought. The man in that barge is Stratford Canning.'
'Are you trying to tell me he is coming here in person to arrest a poor devil of a Greek who so far forgot himself as to try and choke the life out of a measly architect?'
'It hardly seems likely on the face of it but – Mr Spencer!' The lieutenant appeared at his side. 'Be so good as to ask the midshipman of the watch to step down to the cable tier and cast his eye over it. If the prisoner's still there, heave him out of a gun-port if you must, only get him off this ship. Or I won't answer for the consequences. I trust his irons have been properly filed through?'
The young man smiled. 'No need to fret about that, sir. Saw to it myself.'
'Then all that remains for us to do,' the captain observed, surreptitiously mopping his brow with his handkerchief, 'is to greet his excellency. No, don't you run away, my dear,' he added, as Marianne made a movement to withdraw. 'I'd rather keep you with me. I may need you. He's seen you, in any event.'
This was true. The ambassador, looking up at the little group on the quarterdeck, could not have failed to notice Marianne in her bright costume.
Resigning herself, she watched the diplomat's approach. She was amazed to find him so young. Not even his great height and upright bearing could add many years to an undeniably boyish face. How old was Stratford Canning, she wondered? Twenty-four, twenty-five? Certainly not much more. He was handsome, too. His features might have belonged to a Greek statue. Only the thin, thoughtful mouth and rather long chin were unmistakably from northern Europe. The deep-set eyes were thoughtful also, and betrayed the poet and dreamer lurking behind the correct, diplomatic exterior.
When the barge had hooked on to the chains, he came up the companion ladder with the ease of the born athlete and, as he came forward to where they stood waiting to greet him on the deck, Marianne could see that he was even more attractive than he had looked at first sight. There was an undeniable charm about his person, his manners and his grave, pleasant voice.
Then, as her eyes met his for the first time, something inside her warned her that there was danger also. This man was as hard and bright and clean as a blade of tempered steel. Even his manner, perfect as it was, had something unyielding about it. Furthermore, no sooner was the ceremony of his arrival on board completed and the usual civilities exchanged than he turned from the captain and, without waiting for introductions, made her an exquisite bow and addressed her in a voice of smoothest courtesy:
'Permit me to say how delighted I am to have this opportunity of meeting your serene highness at last. You have delayed so long that we had almost given up hope of your arrival. May I say that for my own part, I am both pleased and – reassured?'
There was no hint of irony in the words and from the total absence of surprise with which she listened to them, Marianne knew, somehow, that she had been expecting them from the moment she had seen the ambassador in the barge. Not for one moment had she believed that a man of his eminence would go to such lengths over a simple matter of a Greek servant.
To Captain King, however, it seemed certain that there was some misunderstanding and he gave a shout of laughter.
'Serene highness?' he exclaimed. 'My dear Canning, you've been misinformed, I fear. This lady—'
'Is the Princess Sant'Anna, ambassadress extraordinary – and extraordinarily discreet also – of Napoleon,' Canning took him up coolly. 'I hardly think she will deny it. So grand a lady does not stoop to lies.'
Marianne felt a slow flush invade her cheeks as the ambassador held her eyes with his own perceptive ones, but she did not let her gaze falter. Instead, she met them with a coolness quite equal to his own.
'It's perfectly correct,' she said. 'I am the person you seek, sir. May I inquire how you found me out?'
'Oh, God, that was simple enough! I was roused up at dawn by a couple of rum fellows demanding justice for some kind of an attack on one or other of them which they said had been committed by the servant of a remarkable and highly aristocratic young lady who had appeared quite suddenly out of the mist one night in the middle of the Aegean. I can't say their misfortunes held much interest for me – but what did interest me more than somewhat was their enthusiastic description of the lady. It corresponded, in every detail, to a description which reached me here some time ago. I had only to set eyes on you, ma'am, for any doubts I might have had to be set at rest. I was told I should have to do with one of the prettiest women in Europe.'
It was not flattery: merely a quiet statement of fact, which drew a rather wistful smile from its subject.
'Very well,' she said with a little sigh. 'Now you know, Mr Canning.' She turned to her old friend, who had been listening to this astonishing exchange with a stunned expression that had altered, gradually, to one of deep disappointment.
'Sir James, forgive me, but I couldn't tell you the truth. I was bound to do my utmost to reach here, and if I have abused your hospitality, please believe me when I say that it was only in the cause of a higher duty.'
'You, an envoy of Bonaparte! Whatever would your poor aunt have said!'
'I don't know. But I like to think she would not have condemned me out of hand. You see, Aunt Ellis always knew that one day my French blood would come out. She did her best to stave it off, but she was prepared for it to happen. And now, your excellency,' she went on, turning back to Ginning, 'perhaps you will be so good as to tell me what you mean to do? I do not think you are empowered to arrest me. This is the capital of the Ottoman Empire and France, as well as England, maintains an embassy here. No more – but no less. You were within your rights to try and intercept me on my way here, in fact such an attempt was made by some of your ships off Corfu, but you cannot do so now.'
'Nor should I dream of doing so. We are in Turkish waters, I agree. However… while on board this vessel, you are on British soil. I have only to keep you here.'
'You mean?'