'Upon my word,' he said aloud, 'anyone would think you were not displeased at Jason's misadventure, eh?'
'And they would be right, my friend. I'm not only not displeased, I'm actually grateful to Admiral Maxwell. In blocking Jason's way he may have been only the instrument of fate, but he has done me a tremendous service.'
PART III
The Governor of Odessa
Chapter 8
The Woman with the Diamond
THE woman who descended on a morning in July onto the wooden jetty at Odessa bore only the very faintest resemblance to the one who four months earlier had settled down to an endless wait in a gilded cage suspended over the waters of the Bosporus. Enforced rest, coupled with the admirable nourishment which Osman, Turhan Bey's steward, had provided for a guest concerning whom he had received the strictest orders, had worked wonders. In addition, as she grew stronger there had been the beneficial effects of daily walks in the gardens of Humayunabad. The beauties of the Turkish spring as they were unfolded to her day by day on Jolival's arm had wrought their own soothing medicine on her overtried spirit, while motherhood had given a fresh bloom of perfection to her natural grace.
Marianne's figure had recovered its youthful slenderness but with none of the painful emaciation which had so alarmed Jolival and terrified Jason Beaufort. She had become a woman, sure of herself and armed to the teeth for the only war that fitted her, the war of love. Hence, the traveler's curiosity and interest in the motley crowd swarming about the harbor was fully reciprocated. The local inhabitants made no secret of their admiration for the lovely stranger, so exquisitely dressed in white sprigged muslin flounced about the hem, and with huge emerald eyes sparkling from beneath the soft shade of an Italian straw bonnet with a high poke front lined with the same stuff.
After her came Arcadius de Jolival, clad in spotless white against the heat but spruce and fashionable as ever. An elegant straw hat and long green sunshade tucked under his arm completed an outfit which was also not without its effect on the natives. They were followed by a number of porters carrying their baggage.
The two friends presented the serene and leisurely appearance of tourists enjoying the experience of a new country, but this was all on the surface. Inwardly both were wondering uneasily what awaited them in this, the chief Russian port on the Black Sea.
Odessa was a strange city, beautiful in its way but with a temporary look about it. The place was full of scaffolding and still too new to have acquired a distinct personality of its own. For it was less than twenty years since a decree signed by the Tsarina Catherine II had raised the village of Tatar fishermen, newly wrested from the Turk, to the status of a Russian port. The name of the village and its Turkish castle had been Khadjibey. Catherine had rechristened it Odessa, in memory of the Greek colony of Odessos which had once stood on the site.
The village's elevation was no mere imperial whim. Situated in a rocky bay between the estuaries of the two great rivers, Dnieper and Dniester, it provided an outstanding strategic position and at the same time an outlet to the Mediterranean for the vast wheat-lands of the Ukraine.
It was wheat, in fact, which seemed to hold a peaceful dominion over this naval port. As Marianne and Jolival walked up to the one respectable hotel in the town, preceded by an urchin who had graciously appointed himself their guide in the hope of a tip, they saw dozens of wagons piled high with bursting sacks converging on the warehouses to be stored ready for loading in the holds of the waiting ships, some of which, as Marianne noted with a pang, were English. But she knew that she was in enemy territory now.
It was a full three weeks since Napoleon's Grand Army had crossed the Niemen to challenge Alexander on his own ground.
Marianne's eyes searched the huge harbor, big enough to shelter three hundred ships, hoping to catch sight of the familiar outline of the
The town, tumbling down a steep cliff to the sea in a froth of luxuriant vegetation, was like a link between two spaces of infinite blue; but midway between the busy harbor and the fashionable part at the top, the old Turkish citadel, now strengthened and restored, added a grimmer note. Marianne found her eyes drawn to it irresistibly. Was it there that Jason had been incarcerated all these months?
She had waited for so long, hope dwindling with every new day, that she could hardly believe he was so near to her now. News traveled slowly in the Black Sea, where no one saw the need for hurry and anything was possible. Had the American privateer fallen victim to one of the sudden fierce storms that could blow up in those waters? Or been taken by one of the pirate fleets of polyglot origin which still infested that inland sea? The tsar's navy was powerless against these vermin who would descend without warning out of darkness or mist, attack like a swarm of wasps and vanish again as suddenly and completely as if the wind had carried them away.
And then, at the beginning of June when the Ottoman Empire, weary of fighting, was making peace with Russia, Osman had come back from the harbor with news which, disquieting as it was, was nothing like as tragic as they had feared. The brig had been captured by the Russians and taken to Odessa, where it was now in custody. Of the crew, there was no news at all.
The probability was that they were the prisoners of the formidable governor of the Crimea, that French emigre who, in spite of his name, had apparently made himself more Russian than the Russians and was now by all accounts devoting his considerable talents to developing the wealth of southern Russia and making Odessa into a real city: in a word, the Duc de Richelieu.
With the help of Princess Morousi, who by reason of the nearness of her estate at Arnavut Koy was able to visit Marianne quietly without arousing the suspicions of the ever-watchful Mr. Canning, the recluse at Humayunabad had been able to resume at second hand her friendship with Nakshidil. At her entreaty the Valideh had instituted discreet inquiries which had confirmed the supposition. The American was indeed the prisoner of Odessa's governor, and Nakshidil was compelled to own that she could do nothing to obtain his release. To disturb the fragile balance so recently established between the Porte and the tsar's governor for the sake of one troublesome foreigner was out of the question.
Marianne had accepted it and had made her decision quickly. In any case, the news, however bad, was still better than she had feared and better also than the long uncertainty. Jason had lost his freedom once again but at least he was still alive.
Of her child, on the other hand, she had had no news at all. The prince, Donna Lavinia and the baby seemed to have vanished into thin air and when she tried to question Osman about where his master might have gone the steward had only bowed deeply and protested that he did not know at all. But his smile had been almost too guileless. That was another subject about which he must have had very strict instructions.
Marianne had confined herself, therefore, to asking him to provide her with a vessel to carry her and Jolival in the greatest possible speed and comfort to Odessa. The Duc de Richelieu had been a friend and fellow pupil of her father's at the College du Plessis, and because of this she had asked for and obtained a passport in her maiden name. She had some faint hope that the duke might be moved by recollections of his youth to gratify his old friend's daughter by releasing the
Even then, of course, they would still have to escape from the trap of the Black Sea and sail back through the Bosporus under the guns of Rumeli Hissar and under the noses of the English ships, but all these seemed to Marianne to be minor obstacles. The fact that she would be facing them with Jason at her side took away much of their power to frighten her. The main thing, and the most difficult also, was to wrest the American away from his
