you're a woman.'
Marianne turned without a word and laid her hand with dignity on the arm which O'Flaherty was holding out to her uneasily, waiting to escort her to her cabin.
As they went, she saw that the ship was now sailing past a dark and desolate-looking coast, in sombre contrast to the bright blue sea and sparkling sunshine. It was a land of stark, black rock, bare hills and sharp, menacing reefs. In the clear Greek light it seemed a place designed for storms and darkness and shipwreck. A place for murder, too. The thought made her shiver a little and she turned to her companion:
'Do you know what land that is?'
'The island of Cythera, ma'am.'
Marianne exclaimed in surprise:
'Cythera! You can't mean it? Surely, you are joking? Cythera? Those gloomy, barren rocks!'
'Yes, indeed it is. The island of love! It's a sad disappointment, I agree. I can't imagine anyone wishing to embark for such a dismal spot.'
'No… but isn't that just what we all do? We embark, full of joy and eagerness, for our dream Cythera, only to arrive here, on a harsh rocky isle where everything is smashed. That's what love is, Lieutenant. It's a trap, like the fires lit by wreckers on an empty shore to entice lost ships in to shatter themselves on the cruel rocks. Love is a shipwreck, a wreck made all the worse because it happens just when you think a haven is in sight.'
Craig O'Flaherty drew in his breath. His naturally cheerful face bore a look of distress that sat uneasily on it. He was silent for a moment and then said quietly:
'You mustn't despair, ma'am. You aren't wrecked yet.'
'No? In two or three days we'll reach Athens. What can I do then but take passage on some Greek vessel going to Constantinople, while you set a course for America.'
There was another silence. The lieutenant appeared to be having some difficulty in breathing but, as Marianne glanced in surprise at his flushed face, he seemed to make up his mind with an immense effort, like a man reaching a decision he has been putting off for a long time.
'No,' he said abruptly. 'Not for America. Or not at first, at any rate. We're bound for Africa.'
'Africa?'
'Yes. For the Gulf of Guinea. We're expected on the island of Fernando Po, in the Bight of Biafra, and – and the slave depots of Old Calabar. That is why the doctor was so much against this voyage to Constantinople – and your own presence on board.'
'What are you trying to tell me?'
Marianne uttered the words in a strangled shriek and O'Flaherty grasped her hastily by the arm and hurried her onward, casting uneasy glances around him.
'Not here, ma'am! Go back to your cabin. I have my duty.'
'But I want to know—'
'Later, I beg you! When I am free – this evening, for instance. I'll come to your door and tell you everything then. In the meanwhile, try not to blame the captain too much. He has fallen into the clutches of a devil who aims to drive him mad.'
They had reached Marianne's door by now. O'Flaherty was bowing briefly and, much as she longed to know the truth about the things that had been kept from her, she realized that for the present it was useless to insist: better to wait and let the lieutenant tell her in his own good time.
Yet, as he turned to go, she called him back:
'Mr O'Flaherty, just one thing more. How is the man who was flogged?'
'Kaleb?'
'Yes. I know the thing he did was very bad but – that terrible punishment…'
'He was spared the greater part of it, thanks to you, ma'am,' the lieutenant said gently, 'and a man of his strength doesn't die of twenty-five lashes. As for the thing he did – well, I know two or three more'd be glad to do the same. Until this evening, then, ma'am.'
This time, Marianne let him go. She entered the cabin thoughtfully, to be greeted with something not far short of rapture by Agathe who had evidently been expecting Jason Beaufort to hang her mistress at the yard-arm for daring to interfere.
Marianne told her in a few words what had taken place and then withdrew into a silence which lasted until evening. Her brain whirled with such a confused multitude of thoughts that it was all she could do to sort them out. There were so many questions that she did not give up until her head was aching. Overcome at last by weariness and the pain in her temples, she decided to try and sleep.
It would help to build up her strength and, in any case, sleep was quite the best way of making the time pass quickly when one was consumed with curiosity.
She was roused from her sleep by the sound of gunfire which sent her dashing breathlessly to the porthole, fearing an attack. But it was only the frigates of their escort firing a farewell salute. Cythera had vanished. Westwards, the sun was low in the sky and the two warships, their mission accomplished, were going about for the return journey to Corfu. They could not go any farther for fear of offending the Sultan, who was not friendly to France. The British squadrons were equally cautious, to avoid damaging the recently improved relations between their own government and the Sublime Porte. In the normal way of things the
It was this mention of Africa that tormented Marianne more even than her own predicament. O'Flaherty, if Marianne had understood him correctly, had implied that Jason intended to sail for the Bight of Biafra to pick up a cargo of slaves. Yet that could not possibly be true, since Jason's one object in going to Venice had been to meet the woman he meant to make his wife and take her with him to Charleston. It was to be a lovers' trip, almost a honeymoon. A cruise on board a slave ship could scarcely be expected to appeal to a young woman, and certainly no man worthy of the name would inflict such a voyage on the woman he loved. Then, what?
She remembered suddenly what Jason himself had told her on their first day out. Leighton was not to make the whole voyage with them. They were to put him ashore somewhere. Was it only the sinister doctor who had business at Old Calabar – or was it Jason who had not dared to tell her the whole truth? The bond between him and Leighton was not one of friendship, or not of friendship alone. There was something else. Pray God it was not a plot between them!
As the afternoon drew on to evening, Marianne waited for O'Flaherty with growing impatience. She prowled about her cabin, unable to sit still, and continually asking Agathe what time it was. Still the lieutenant did not come, and when she tried to send her maid for news, she found that this time she was really a prisoner. Her cabin door was locked on the outside. A fresh period of waiting began, a time of nervous fears that grew worse with every hour that passed.
Still the lieutenant did not come. Nerves stretched to breaking point, Marianne could have screamed, banged, clawed, anything to relieve the anger and alarm which threatened to choke her. There was no reason for it that she knew but, like a wild creature, she sensed the approach of some new danger.
What came, at last, when dawn was not very far off, was the sound of the key being turned in the newly- mended lock. John Leighton entered, with a group of seamen at his back amongst whom Marianne recognized Arroyo, carrying a lantern. Contrary to his usual habit, the doctor was armed to the teeth, and an extraordinary expression of triumph, which he seemed unable to hide, shone through his livid countenance, giving it a sinister vitality. Clearly this was the great moment of his life, a moment for which he had been waiting for a long time.
Marianne reacted instantly. Reaching for a wrapper she slid out of bed and faced them.
'Who gave you leave to enter here?' she demanded with dignity. 'Oblige me by getting out at once!'
Ignoring this, Leighton came further into the cabin. The seamen crowded into the doorway, craning their necks eagerly to get a glimpse into the unfamiliar prettiness of the women's cabin.
'I'm desolated to disturb you,' the doctor said, with heavy sarcasm, 'but I fear that it is you who must get out. You must leave this ship at once. A boat awaits you.'
'Leave the ship? In the middle of the night? Are you mad? Where do you expect me to go, may I ask?'
'Where you like. We are in the Mediterranean, not the Atlantic. Land is not far off, and it will soon be dawn. Prepare yourself.'
Marianne folded her arms, hugging her wrap more closely round her, and looked at him, unmoving.
