Secret Harbor (17 page)

Grania laughed and ran towards him.

“That is perfect!” she said. “Now you speak English far better than I speak French.”

“That would be impossible,” the
Comte
replied, “but I am glad your lessons are having an effect.”

“You speak just like an Englishman,” she said, “but I feel that you look almost too smart to be one.”

“You flatter me,” the
Comte
answered. “But, darling, whatever you may look like remember you are my wife, my very fascinating, alluring French wife.”

He kissed her. Then he drew up her hair across her face and kissed her through it.

“You are my golden girl again,” he said. “I am not certain how I like you best, dark and mysterious like the dusk, or shining and golden as a spring morning.”

The
Comte
had planned that they should draw near Grenada well after sunrise—not too early in case Abe did not have time to change the flag. But they were slowed down by lack of wind, and when they finally arrived within sight of the island it was about eleven o’clock.

Grania was on the poop-deck beside the
Comte
and they were both waiting for the signal from the look-out on the mast.

He held a telescope to his eye and nobody on deck spoke until finally they heard him cry:

“A white flag! I can see it quite clearly!”

The
Comte
swung the wheel over, the sails filled with the breeze and they shot ahead.

It was quite a feat to enter the bay of Secret Harbour, but the
Comte
managed it brilliantly and Grania felt a little tug at her heart when she saw the jetty, the pine trees and the brilliant bushes of bougainvillaea that she had known ever since a child.

They let down the anchor, the gang-plank joined the deck to the jetty and the
Comte
helped Grania onto it.

They had arranged to go ahead while the others stayed on the ship ready to move away quickly if it was necessary.

“If Papa is here I want him to meet everybody,” Grania said.

“We will have to see what your father thinks of me first,” the
Comte
replied. “He may disapprove violently of your marrying a Frenchman.”

“No one could disapprove of you,” Grania answered, and the
Comte
laughed and kissed the tip of her nose.

Now he was carrying over his arm Patrick O’Kerry’s uniform coat, and the papers he had taken from him before he was buried at sea were in the pocket.

“Papa will want to keep them,” Grania said, “and one day when the war is over, if she is still alive, I am sure his mother would wish to have them.”

“That is what I thought,” the
Comte
answered.

“How can you be so kind?” Grania asked. “I cannot believe that any other man would think of such things in the middle of a war.”

“A war which I pray will not concern us in the future,” the
Comte
said beneath his breath.

Because she was so closely attuned to him Grania was aware that he was in fact apprehensive as to what sort of reception he would receive from his father-in-law.

But she was confident that, unless Roderick Maigrin was with her father, he would be glad that she had found somebody to love and who loved her.

If her father was not at Secret Harbour she was
wondering how she could manage to send for him so that he came alone.

It was not possible to predict exactly what would happen when they arrived, but what was important was that she should see Abe and find out what the position was.

They walked through the pine trees and she glanced at the
Comte
before they left their shelter for the garden.

She knew he was looking serious but, she thought, exceedingly handsome.

Because it was so hot he was wearing only a thin linen shirt, but his cravat was tied in an intricate fashion which always fascinated her, and his white cotton breeches were the same as the crew wore, only better fitting.

“He is so smart,” Grania thought to herself, “but at the same time so masculine.”

She blushed at her own thoughts.

They walked through the overgrown flower-beds which had been her mother’s pride.

Then, just as they reached the centre of the garden and the house lay straight ahead of them, a man appeared on the verandah.

One glance at him and Grania felt her heart stand still, for he was wearing British, uniform, and was, she saw, a Colonel.

Both she and the
Comte
stopped and neither of them moved as the Colonel came down the steps and walked towards them.

Then behind him Grania saw Abe and knew by the expression of consternation on his face that the English Officer’s visit was unexpected.

The Colonel came forward. Then as he reached them he held out his hand to Grania and smiled.

“I think you must be Lady Grania O’Kerry,” he said. “May I introduce myself? I am Lieutenant-Colonel Campbell and I have just arrived from Barbados with a transport of troops.”

For a moment Grania thought it was impossible to speak.

Then she said in a voice that did not sound like her own:

“How do you do, Colonel? I am sure you were very welcome at St. George’s.”

“We were,” the Colonel replied, “and I think we can soon get the trouble here cleared up.”

He glanced at the
Comte
and Grania knew he was waiting to be introduced.

Then as she wondered frantically what she should say she saw the Colonel’s eyes resting on the naval officer’s coat that the
Comte
carried on his arm.

Almost like a message from Heaven Grania knew what she could do.

“May I, Colonel, introduce my cousin, who is also my husband? Commander Patrick O’Kerry!”

The
Comte
and the Colonel shook hands and the Colonel said:

“I am delighted to meet you, Commander. Strangely enough the Governor was speaking about you today and wondering how he could get in touch with you.”

“What about?” the
Comte
asked.

He sounded, Grania thought, completely composed while her heart was beating frantically.

The Colonel turned again to her.

“I am afraid, Lady Grania,” he said quietly, “I am the bearer of bad news.”

“Bad news?” Grania repeated almost beneath her breath.

“I am here to inform you that your father, the Earl of Kilkerry, was killed by the revolutionaries.”

Grania drew in her breath and put out her hand towards the
Comte.

He took it in his and she felt as if the clasp of his fingers gave her strength.

“What ... happened?”

“Ten days ago the slaves on Mr. Roderick Maigrin’s plantation were determined to join the other rebels,” the Colonel replied. “However, he became aware of it and tried to prevent them from leaving.”

Grania was sure that he had killed them as he had killed the others, but she did not say anything and the Colonel went on:

“However they disarmed him and shot your father, who died instantly. But they tortured Mr. Maigrin before they finally murdered him.”

Grania did not speak. She could only feel relief that her father had died without suffering.

Then the
Comte
spoke.

“You will understand, Colonel, that this has been a great shock for my wife? May I suggest that we go into the house so that she can sit down.”

“Yes, of course,” the Colonel agreed.

The
Comte’s
arm went round Grania and as they walked across the garden and up the stairs she realised that he was limping most convincingly.

She wondered vaguely why he was doing so.

When they were seated in her mother’s Drawing
Room and Abe without being told had brought them rum punches the Colonel said:

“I suppose, Commander, you are anxious to get back to sea?”

“I am afraid that will be impossible for some time,” the
Comte
replied. “As you are doubtless aware, I was on H.M.S. Heroic which was sunk, and I, with a number of other men, was wounded.”

“I noticed you limped,” the Colonel said, “but apart from your wound as your circumstances have now changed, I am hoping we can perhaps persuade you to stay here.”

The
Comte
looked surprised and the Colonel explained:

“As I think you must be aware, you are now the Earl of Kilkerry, and the reason that the bodies of the murdered gentlemen were discovered was that the Governor was anxious that t
h
e plantations should be put back into order and the slaves set to work.”

Grania raised her head to say:

“I think ... perhaps now we have ... very few slaves ... left.”

“I expect that is true, as it is on most of the plantations where many of the slaves have run away to join the rebels, and the rest are hiding. But we shall soon take Belvedere, and once Fedon is in our hands the rebellion will be over.”

“So the slaves will go back to work and will be anxious to do so,” the
Comte
remarked.

“Exactly!” the Colonel agreed. “And that is why, My Lord, I would like you to stay here and run the estate for your wife. It is important to the island, and perhaps until we can find somebody to take over Mr. Maigrin’s plantation you might have time to keep an eye on his land as well as your own.”

There was a moment’s pause while Grania knew the
Comte
was thinking. Then he said:

“I will certainly do the best I can for you, and I am certain I can see that our own slaves are content and forget any rebellious feelings they may have had.”

The Colonel smiled.

“That is exactly what I want to hear, My Lord, and I am sure the Governor will be delighted by your attitude.”

He paused before he added:

“By the way, Lady Grania, I know you will be sorry to hear that the old Governor, who you knew well, was killed by the rebels, and the present Governor is new to the Island. He will I know be happy to make your acquaintance later. I need not add that at the moment he is far too busy for any social engagements.”

“Yes, of course,” Grania said. “We will be busy too. I am afraid my father has rather neglected the plantation in the last two or three years and there is a great deal to be done.”

“I am quite sure your husband will manage admirably.”

The Colonel finished his rum punch and rose to his feet.

“Now, if you will forgive me,” he said, “I must be on my way. I have to get back to St. George’s. The Governor asked me as I was clearing up certain difficulties in St. David’s to call here on my way home, and I was exceedingly fortunate to find you.”

“We shall hope to see you again,” Grania said holding out her hand.

“I shall hope so too,” the Colonel replied. “But as soon as our plans are clarified we will go into action!” He shook hands with the
Comte
saying:

“Goodbye, My Lord. The very best of luck! I am delighted, may I say, that you are here. You may not know there were very few survivors from H.M.S. Heroic.” The
Comte
saw the Colonel to the door where his horse was waiting and a dozen or so troops were mounted.

He watched them ride away, then went back to the Drawing-Room.

As he came through the door Grania ran towards him, to fling her arms round him.

“Darling, you were wonderful!” she said. “He had not the least suspicion that you were not who you said you were.”

“Who
you
said I was,” the
Comte
corrected, “and I thought it was very quick and clever of you.”

He drew her to the sofa and sat down beside her holding her hand in his.

She looked up at him enquiringly and he said very quietly:

“This is a decision which you and only you can make. Are we to stay or are we to leave?”

Grania did not pause before she asked:

“Would you be willing to stay here and run the plantation as the Colonel suggested?”

“Why not? It belongs to you, I am quite certain it will be hard work, but with the experience I have we could make it pay.”

He did not wait for Grania to say anything, but went on:

“If we are here we can also find work for all our friends, and your job, my darling, will be to make them proficient not on
a
plantation, but in the English language.”

He smiled as he went on:

“After all, they are all intelligent Frenchmen, and it should not be hard for Leo eventually to find plenty of work in St. George’s and if we are clever Andre and Jacques can take over Roderick Maigrin’s plantation.” Grania gave a little cry.

“That would be wonderful, and in a way poetic justice after that man was so horrible and such a bad influence on Papa.”