tray. But he had no intention of allowing his guest to converse freely with her 'highly suspicious' servant.
'We shall see him together, tomorrow morning,' he concluded, 'when we inform him of what we would have him do. What can you have to tell him now that will not wait? It is dark, the day is done now and it is time to rest.'
'I am not sleepy,' Marianne snapped. She had slept all day and was now suffering at least as much from impatience as from real anxiety. She had to see Jean alone and explain to him what she wanted him to do to ensure the safety of them both. Pulling the precious Irish shawl more tightly round her shoulders, she went on, a little defiantly: 'What am I supposed to do? Crawl back into that cupboard thing I sleep in I suppose?'
Morvan laughed.
'You have no fancy for our box-beds, I see, but they can be very cosy when the air bites cold. However, since you are not sleepy, what would you like to do? You might take a walk but the night is dark and cold—'
'Thank you! But I have no desire for a second view of those poor murdered wretches on the beach.'
'You take me for a child, my dear. It's little enough we see of the coastguard and customs men in these parts, I agree they stand somewhat in awe of our rude manners, I believe, but one never knows. The drowned have been thrown back into the sea, the others properly buried. We did not kill so very many, you know.'
The last words were spoken in an ironic tone which made Marianne want to slap him.
Rather than arouse his suspicions, she agreed when he proposed a game of chess. At his command, an exquisite marquetry table was brought into the homely kitchen. Arranged upon it was a set of sparkling chess men made of silver and crystal and certainly very old. These were followed by two fragile armchairs upholstered in pale silk which were placed before the fire.
'This is the warmest place in the house,' Morvan explained taking one of the chairs and offering the other to Marianne. 'There is my own room, but the chimney smokes and one freezes there. Besides—' He gave a slow smile and his teeth gleamed wolfishly below the mask, 'we are as yet insufficiently acquainted for another, more enthralling game I might propose. Until proved otherwise, you are the guest sent by God – and, of course, by their Highnesses.'
'I seem to think,' Marianne retorted blandly, 'that it takes two to play that game – and you would find me less willing to engage in it than in this. I should, on the other hand, be very willing to see you at last remove your mask. I dislike that velvet face.'
'You would dislike what it conceals still more,' he answered harshly. 'If you must know, my pretty babe, I am disfigured. An unlucky sabre-cut at Quiberon yet, even then, I came out of that carnage alive and think myself lucky I escaped so lightly. So, let us leave my mask where it is and have our game.'
Chess had been the abbe de Chazay's passion and Marianne had played the game as long as she could remember. Patiently, in the course of endless games she had developed her sense of strategy. She played well, with a speed and boldness that could disconcert even a skilful player. But tonight, her mind was not on the game. Her eyes scarcely saw the glittering pieces touched to gold by the dancing light of the fire, her ears were so busy straining to catch all the sounds of this unfamiliar house. Gwen had disappeared as though by magic. The old woman, Soizic, had gone off with her tray. Almost at once, the sound of her wooden shoes was heard outside the kitchen window. There must be an outer door somewhere not far away leading to the barn where Jean was imprisoned. The two 'lieutenants' had shuffled out with an awkward 'goodnight all', and shortly afterwards the little tailor had also made his way across the kitchen, carrying his candle, on his way to whatever hole had been allotted him to sleep in.
Now that he. was no longer sitting down, Marianne saw with pity that he was a gnome-like creature with stunted legs much too short for a body whose development, apart from a tendency to be hunchbacked, was normal. He gave the players as wide a berth as possible and muttered his goodnight humbly enough but once again Marianne caught that glance of pure hatred directed towards Morvan.
Last of all, the old man in the chimney corner hobbled away, half asleep, and then the only sounds were the crackle of logs in the hearth and Morvan's rather heavy breathing. Little by little, the silence became oppressive. The mask and the angle at which his chair was placed left the wrecker's face in shadow, and Marianne had the unpleasant feeling that she was playing against a phantom; only the hands moving the pieces on the squares and violet-wood, seemed alive. It was a good hand, of almost feminine whiteness, the fingers long, perfectly formed and sensitive. Their colour apart, Marianne had seen another pair of hands like those, quite recently. They reminded her of Jason Beaufort's hands and the memory was not a pleasant one. On Morvan's however, Marianne's keen eyes were able to make out the faint mark of a star-shaped scar at the base of the third finger. She had always been fascinated by hands and by the strange, evocative power they had to conjure up a host of images. She had been fond of studying people's hands. These hands suggested something quite different from nights spent lurking in ambush on storm-lashed rocks, waiting for luckless vessels to fall into the trap – they suggested—
The hand was abruptly withdrawn and Morvan's coldly courteous tone dispelled his adversary's musings.
'Your mind is not on the game, my dear. That is my bishop you were about to move. Perhaps you are more tired than you thought? Would you rather we stopped for tonight?'
Marianne grasped at the chance he offered. She had better things to do tonight than to play chess. And so with a rueful smile she agreed that she did feel a little sleepy. Morvan rose, bowed and offered his arm.
'After such a night as you have passed, it is not surprising. I will take you to your room.
The fire had burned down to a red glow and the cold had crept into the long, bare room but there were new candles in the silver sconces and the bed in the carved wooden alcove had been freshly made. A long cambric shift was laid out on the coverlet. But Marianne had no thought of going to bed. She began by throwing some logs on the fire and the flames burned up, bright and clear, driving away the gloomy shadows. That done, she went straight to the window and dragged aside the ragged curtain that covered it. She found to her fury that it was firmly barred and fastened with the aid of a padlock. It seemed that Morvan left nothing to chance. A wave of depression swept over her. She would never manage to get to Jean and tomorrow would bring disaster to them both. But how was she to get out? Morvan was almost certain to have locked the door and in fact that infalliable recording device of memory was already telling her that she had heard the dry click of the key in the lock.
She went over to the door just the same, though without conviction, and lifted the latch but let it go again immediately. Someone on the other side was stealthily turning the key in the lock. Marianne drew back instinctively as, without a sound, the door swung open. The tailor's pale face loomed out of the shadows.
He put his finger quickly to his lips to still Marianne's exclamation of surprise.
'Ssh! May I come in for a moment?'
She beckoned silently, noticing that the odd little man spoke perfect French. He limped across to the panelled wall that concealed the cupboard bed and opened the doors. Then, having assured himself that they were empty, he turned back to Marianne who was watching him with astonishment.
'On the right of the barn door,' he whispered, 'you will find a hole in the wall. That is where they keep the key—'
'Thank you,' said Marianne, 'but how am I to get out of the house? Even my window is barred.'
'Yours, yes, but not the others and, in particular, not that of the room where I work. It will be a tight fit, but you are not large, and the barn is just opposite.'
There was a moment's silence. Marianne stared at the little hunchback in amazement. His small eyes were twinkling like stars and he seemed suddenly highly delighted.
'Why are you doing this?' she asked. 'You know I mean to escape – and you are putting yourself in danger.'
'Not at all. He will think that Madam Jealousy let you out. After all, who should notice a tailor – saving your presence? And for my reasons – say I like playing tricks on folk that are too cocksure – or that I have my own reasons for hating the Lord Morvan! Go, quickly—'
'Thank you again – but I owe you my freedom—'
'Not yet. I am not certain you will get away – or not unless you go alone.'
'What do you mean?'
