Marianne

From somewhere inside the barn a voice spoke. 'So you've come? It's about time, I was just going to blow out my candle.'

Comfortably ensconced in a heap of straw, Jean Le Dru sat with folded arms looking at Marianne. The candle she saw was still alight although almost burned down. It was stuck to the tray beside the remains of the meal. She understood however why Perinnaic had told her that if she meant to escape she would have to do so alone. Jean seemed to have suffered no ill treatment. Far from it. He had obviously been allowed to wash because his fair hair shone like gold and the beard had gone from his chin. He had been given dry clothes as well but there was a broad iron band around his ankles linked by a heavy chain to a massive ring embedded in the masonry of the wall. There must be a key to unfasten that chain, but Marianne had not got it.

Her face was such a picture of disappointment that Le Dru began to laugh.

'Yes, your friends have anchored me good and fast. But maybe, if they've given you a key I can see in your hand they've been good enough to give you the one that opens this little trinket as well?'

She shook her head. 'They're are not my friends,' she said unhappily. 'I found out where they hid this key – I was hoping that we could escape together, tonight.'

'Escape? Why do you want to escape? Aren't you happy here? I saw you trotting off like an honoured guest on the arm of that masked devil and, I will say, they've got you up like a princess. A Bretonne princess, of course, but then, in my view they're the best of all! And there's no denying it suits you. You look quite lovely in it.'

'Stop teasing me! We are not in a drawing room. We must find some way to escape, I tell you, or both of us are lost!'

'I am, at any rate. As for you, although I don't quite see how you are in danger my dear – marquise, is it? I am not stopping you running about the countryside on this charming night. For my own part, with your permission, I am going to sleep. It's not so bad here in this straw, all things considered. So I'll just wish you a good journey. Don't forget to shut the door when you go. There's a devil of a wind!'

'But you don't understand!' Marianne wailed almost in tears.

She went down on her knees beside him. 'I am not what these people think.'

'Not an aristocrat? Who do you think will believe that? One's only to look at you.'

'It is true, I am an aristocrat, but I am not an agent of the king. Ever since I came, they have talked about nothing but conspiracy, the princes' agents and the Emperor's spies, but I don't understand a word of it. I know nothing about it – nothing, I swear to you!'

In her desperate longing to convince him, she had clasped her hands in a childish gesture of supplication. He must believe her. He must be her friend again, as he had been last night in the storm. She needed his man's strength so badly! And now, his beardless face made him look so unbelievably young, much closer to her than he had been before. There was something open and clean about him which was both attractive and reassuring. Running out of argument, she said in a small, frightened voice which all unknown to herself, touched a chord in the boy's locked heart.

'You see – I'm only seventeen.'

The grey eyes which had been so cold a moment before, softened suddenly. Stretching out his arm, Jean folded the girl's clasped hands in his one big one and drew her forward until she was sitting on the straw.

'Now,' he said quietly, 'tell me what made you run away from England. You were running away, weren't you?'

She did not answer immediately, uncertain whether or not to tell him the truth. Her experience with the duc d'Avaray had shown her how fantastic and unconvincing her story sounded. On the other hand, she needed Jean too much to wish to deceive him. If she made up a story, he would know somehow that she was not telling the truth. And besides, she had had enough of lying. Abruptly her mind was made up.

'I killed my husband in a duel on our wedding night!'

'What?'

Marianne realized that she had succeeded in breaking through the shell of mocking indifference with which Jean surrounded himself. She saw, with a degree of innocent pride, his eyes widen and appear to change colour. She was vaguely conscious that he was altering his estimation of her. His lips barely moved as he said softly:

'Do you know what you are saying?'

'I know,' she said sadly, 'it does sound incredible but it is true.'

Encouraged by the instinctive trust which he inspired in her and by a deep longing to confide in someone at last, she told him all about the terrible events of her wedding night. She kept nothing back, and told her story with an honesty to which the Breton's own uncompromising nature responded. She knew he would not turn away from her and when, at the end, he nodded and put out one finger timidly to stroke her cheek, she was sure of his sympathy.

'Pity you're a girl. You'd have made a splendid boy! Held your own anywhere! But now, tell me why you are in danger and why you have to escape from here? What has that masked man done to you?'

'Nothing yet,' she assured him, touched by his concern, 'but we must find some way of leaving here, both of us, because we can do nothing alone. Meanwhile, I have come to ask you to stick to the same story. The chief of the wreckers thinks that—'

She embarked on the tale of her dealings with Morvan. Jean listened, as before, but this time when she stopped talking the warm glow had gone out of his eyes. He sat thoughtfully hugging his knee.

'If I take ship again for England, its back to the hulks! And this time, God knows when I will get out. Supposing I ever do get out!'

'But of course you can't go back! It is just a matter of gaining time. If you agree, I'll manage to delay things for a few days, perhaps even a few hours will be enough to give us time to escape. Yes, tomorrow night should do it. I have a friend in the house and before then I should have found out where they keep the key to this chain and then we can both escape! But if you tell him the truth when he asks, nothing can save us!'

Jean turned his head slowly and at the sight of his set face an icy trickle seemed to run down Marianne's back. Did he still not trust her? He was looking at her as though he would see through to her very soul. She was about to speak, put forward further arguments, but he silenced her.

'How far can I trust you? You stand for everything I hate, everything I am fighting against. If this is a trap, I shall be lost without Black Fish. And I am needed. No – you can escape, go now, tonight, and leave me. I'll manage somehow!'

'Indeed I will not! I will not go without you. Especially since you do not trust me. If I did, then you would certainly be lost! Morvan would slit your throat first thing in the morning without more ado.'

'And you are really determined to save me? Why?'

Why, indeed? To tell you the truth Marianne could not have said clearly yet it seemed quite natural in her own mind. Their flight together from Plymouth, the dangers they had passed through had in some way bound them together. Jean's behaviour, his protectiveness and affectionate comradeship had found a way to her heart. She would have scorned to escape alone, leaving him helpless in Morvan's power. But if he did not understand this himself, she could not explain it.