Marianne and the Lords of the East

At that moment, that cultivated nobleman the vicomte was attentively following through his quizzing glass the evolutions of the ship under the command of Achmet Reis, Agathe's husband, from whom the Valideh had purchased her and who had consented to bring her around from the dockyard to her new moorings.

'The Turks are fine sailors,' he remarked. 'It's a pity they can't bring themselves out of the Middle Ages and start building modern ships which don't look as though they might have fought at Lepanto. God forgive me if that isn't a galley I see over there!'

'Don't be so critical, Jolival. It's not a hundred years since the French put their last galley out of commission. Besides, it's only a matter of time. The Sultan Mahmoud, if Allah preserves him, is determined to introduce reforms and to open his empire to progress. But he can do nothing until he has succeeded in mastering the janissaries and silencing their wretched kettles once and for all. Both His Highness and his mother are waiting their chance and cultivating the virtue of patience meanwhile, but it is their first care—'

Since becoming a guest of the Princess Morousi, Marianne had paid several visits to her imperial kinswoman and a friendship was developing between the two women, as also with the exuberant and talkative Bulut Hanum, who was still mystified by the events at Rebecca's house but as a devoted subject had bowed to it unquestioningly since her mistress approved. All this meant useful information for Marianne which she passed on generously to the unfortunate Latour-Maubourg, who was losing ground more and more, for naturally, and just as Marianne had expected, no reply had been forthcoming from the emperor on the subject of his attitude to the continuance of the Russo-Turkish war.

The Sea Witch had come alongside and her wooden walls loomed over the quayside, like a sea hawk among chickens beside her dumpy neighbors. She was so clean and bright that Marianne's eyes filled with tears and she forgot her irritation.

It was a morning for hopeful thoughts. When Jason came back he would be so glad to find his beloved ship made new again that the clouds which had gathered between him and Marianne would melt away of their own accord. A few quiet explanations and everything would be all right again, the bad dream would fade away… The prince would have the heir he longed for and she who had briefly been his wife would be free to make her life with the man she still loved as much as ever…

Of course, somewhere in the world there was still someone who was legally Mrs. Beaufort, but Marianne refused to think of her, or even to remember. Pilar had chosen Spain, the country of her ancestors, whose dark violence and stern piety she had inherited, and had probably buried herself and her ruthless passions in a convent somewhere. She was no longer a threat. But when would Jason come?

A few days earlier, when 'Turhan Bey' had paid one of his courtesy visits to Princess Morousi, Marianne had summoned up courage to mention his coming, expressing a timid surprise that it should be so long delayed. Her heart had beat a little faster as she did so, for she was afraid of hurting the prince, but he had not seemed unduly troubled by the question. He had looked at her with the inscrutable expression of his dark, invariably calm blue eyes which always made her feel slightly uneasy, and had answered gravely: 'It's not so surprising. He was gravely ill, for Leighton had left him for dead in the drifting boat where he was found. Moreover, ever since Corfu he had kept him under the influence of a dangerous drug—we think it was ergot—which did not help. Even so, the personal physician of the Pasha of the Morea, who attended him, has assured me that he will live but hinted at a lengthy convalescence. But you may be sure that he is well cared for.'

'The Pasha of the Morea's physician?' Marianne had asked. 'Then how is it that he is being cared for by fishermen?'

'Because it is infinitely better for him. Hassani Haji is a man of God and my friend, and as such he has been tending Captain Beaufort secretly. The American would not get out of Vali Pasha's hands without a substantial ransom. Remember that Vali and his father, the Pasha of Janina, and also Mehmet Ali of Egypt, for some time have been asserting their independence of the Porte and behaving like independent rulers. Though the time may well come when they will be sorry for it. But to return to Jason Beaufort, I don't expect his convalescence to be less than six months.'

Six months! Marianne had been doing rapid mental calculations. Supposing that Jason had been picked up some time early in August, that meant he would not be in Constantinople before midwinter, or even until the spring, according to how long it took him to reach the Bosporus. That meant a long wait still, because it was not yet the end of October. On the other hand, a small voice whispered to Marianne that that might be all the better since the child was due at the end of February.

That would allow her to meet him looking her normal self, for she had not been looking forward to facing him with her present plump cheeks and unattractive barrel-shaped figure.

'Marianne, you really are taking a shocking risk, you know.' Marianne started to hear a voice scolding her. 'It's cold and damp here on the waterfront and you have been standing here for three quarters of an hour or more, standing in the middle of a jostling crowd. And I told you to take care of yourself.'

She roused herself from her thoughts to find that Jolival had left her side and was talking to Achmet on the deck of the Sea Witch. His place had been taken by a fair-haired man of middle height who sported curling sidewhiskers and an air of elegance that was wholly English. He was regarding her with strong disapproval. She smiled and held out her hand.

'Were you really watching me all that time, Doctor? Then you were very patient to wait for three quarters of an hour before coming to scold me.'

'I wasn't watching you, Princess, but Lady Hester and I have been all that time over there in consultation with a host of Greek sea captains, each one a more talkative rogue than the last. I kept hoping that we had done and could go home but these fellows can outtalk a whole tribe of Indians! As for Lady Hester, she's the queen of them all! I lost patience at last, but she is still at it. Look at her, standing on the gangway in that outlandish dress of hers, with that huge devil in the red cap and the unforgivable dirt! Upon my word, I'll swear that she enjoys these arguments. If her friends in London could see her now…'

Marianne laughed heartily. It was not the least odd part of her situation that the doctor now should be an Englishman, Charles Meryon, and that he should also have become her friend. Within twenty-four hours of her installation in the house of Phanar she had quite naturally become involved in her hostess's social life, which she had discovered to be altogether cosmopolitan.

Princess Morousi had, in fact, no interest at all in politics and it seemed to her quite natural to open her house to guests who in any other place would not even have spoken to one another. She had no more racial prejudices than she had opinions on the justice of this or that war or private quarrel. Her friends were drawn impartially from Greeks, Turks, Albanians, Russians, Walachians, French or English. All she asked was that she should like them and above all never be bored by them. In return for which she dispensed lavish hospitality and a friendship not to be bought at any price but which, if disappointed, never forgave.

And so Marianne, the friend and secret ambassadress of Napoleon, had found herself thanks to the princess thrown into the very arms of the niece of the great Pitt, the mortal enemy of France and of Napoleon in particular, and between her and the Lady Hester Stanhope there had sprung up an immediate and spontaneous affinity which she had not even tried to suppress.

Lady Hester was surely one of the strangest and most remarkable people England had ever produced. After the death of her uncle, whose support, helper and hostess she had been for several years, followed by that of her betrothed, General Sir John Moore, killed fighting at Corunna, she would ordinarily have been relegated to a discreet retirement. But after queening it as a social and political hostess, Lady Hester, at thirty-four, was in no mind to resign herself to the narrow, stifling existence of an old maid in some English country house.

She had chosen instead a life of adventure and eighteen months before, on the eighteenth of February, 1810, to be precise, she had shaken the dust of her native land from her feet. With no great idea of ever returning she had taken ship at Portsmouth for the eastern lands which had always exercised a powerful fascination over her eager, imaginative mind. But she did not set out alone. With her on the frigate Jason, that old acquaintance of Marianne's, had gone such a retinue as might have accompanied a queen in exile.

After a voyage of several months, they had arrived at last at Constantinople, where the traveler had been settled for a year now, delighted by the charm of the city, receiving and received by the best society including the sultan himself, and living in considerable splendor on the remittances which her cher ami, Michael Bruce, received from his father: for Lady Hester, for all her expensive tastes, had little in the way of fortune. She was also planting a large thorn in the flesh of the British ambassador.

Canning, in fact, was soon of the opinion that Lady Hester was the eleventh plague of Egypt, while for her