Secret Harbor (8 page)

She felt herself tremble as she imagined the indignities and perhaps the pain that Dr. Hay and the Anglican Rector might be suffering.

The
Comte
was watching her face.

“Forget it!” he said. “There is nothing you can do, and to keep thinking of such horrors is to bring them nearer and perhaps to make one’s self more vulnerable.”

Grania looked at him with interest.

“Do you believe that thought is transferable, and also strong enough to attract attention?”

“I assure you,” the
Comte
replied, “I am not speaking of Voodoo or Black Magic when I say that the natives on Martinique know what is happening fifty miles away at the other end of the island, long before it would be possible for a messenger to travel the distance with the information.”

“You mean they are able to communicate with each other in a way that we have forgotten how to do?”

“I would never underestimate their powers.”

“That is very interesting.”

“As you are half-Irish it should be easy for you to understand,” the
Comte
said.

“Yes, of course. Papa used to tell me stories about the powers of the Irish Sorcerers and how they could foretell the future. Of course I learnt about the Leprechauns when I was very small.”

“Just as I learnt about the spirits that inhabit the mountains and forests in Martinique,” the
Comte
said.

“Why could they not warn you before the English invaded the island?” Grania asked.

“Perhaps they tried to do so and we did not listen!” the
Comte
replied. “When you come to Martinique you can feel them, hear them and perhaps see them.”

“That is something I would love to do,” Grania replied impulsively.

“You must trust to fate,” the
Comte
answered, “whichas you know has already brought you out of a very difficult situation, for which I am very grateful.”

“As I am grateful to be here,” Grania said. “When I rode through the forest I had the feeling I was escaping from a terrifying danger to something very different.”

“What was that?”

She drew in her breath.

“It is what I feel when I am sitting here talking to you. I cannot ... describe it exactly ... but it makes me feel very ... happy.”

There was a moment’s silence. Then the
Comte
said: “That is all I want you to feel for the moment.”

Chapter
four

T
he hours of
heat passed slowly. Sometimes Grania and the
Comte
talked and sometimes they sat in silence as if they communicated with each other without words.

But she was aware that his eyes were on her face and sometimes he made her feel shy in a way that was half
pleasure, half a strange embarrassment that seemed to have something magical about it.

Then there was the sound of footsteps overhead and the whistling of a man who was happy while he worked, and the
Comte
rose.

“I think I should take you back to the house,” he said. “If your father is going to arrive he should be here in perhaps under an hour.”

Grania knew that was the time it would take if her father came to her by road and not through the forest.

She wanted to stay longer and go on talking to the
Comte
or even just be with him, but she could think of no viable excuse that did not sound intrusive, so reluctantly she rose from the sofa.

She had laid her head against a soft cushion, and now she patted her hair into place feeling she must be untidy and looked around for a mirror.

“You look lovely!” the
Comte
said in his deep voice, and again she blushed.

He stood watching her before he said:

“I have to tell you how much it has meant to me to have you here and feel for the moment we have stepped out of time and are at peace with the world, or perhaps it would be better to say at peace with ourselves, for the world outside does not matter.”

“That is what I think,” Grania answered, but again it was hard to meet his eyes.

Reluctantly he turned to the cabin door and opened
it.

“Come along,” he said, “we must find out if there is any sign of your father, and you must be ready to talk to him and make him see your point of view.”

Grania did not reply.

For the time being the
Comte
had given her a sense of security and as he had said, peace, and it was hard to adjust her mind to what lay ahead, or even to feel menaced by Roderick Maigrin.

The
Comte
was with her, the sun was shining, the sea was vividly blue, and the palm trees were moving with an inexpressible grace in the warm wind.

When they were on deck she smiled at one of the men who was working at the ropes and he saluted her with a gesture that was very French and smiled back.

The
Comte
stopped.

“This is Pierre, my friend and neighbour when we lived in Martinique.”

He spoke in French and he said to his friend:

“Let me present you, Pierre, to the beautiful lady whose hospitality we are enjoying because Secret Harbour belongs to her.”

Pierre sprang to his feet and when Grania put out her hand he raised her fingers to his lips.

“
Enchante, Mademoiselle
.”

She thought they might have been meeting in some Salon in Paris or London instead of on the deck of a pirate ship.

She walked along the gang-plank and when the
Comte
joined her on the other side he said:

“Tomorrow, if I am still here, I would like you to meet the rest of my crew. It is best for them to remain anonymous, which is why I address them by their Christian names, but they are all men who have given up very different positions in life to save themselves from coming under the harsh jurisdiction of the English.”

“Are we so harsh when we are in that position?” Grania asked.

“All conquerors seem intolerable to those who are conquered.”

The
Comte
spoke roughly and for a moment Grania thought that he was hating her because she was an enemy.

Without meaning to she looked at him pleadingly, and he said:

“Forgive me, I am trying not to be bitter, and most of all, not to think of myself, but of you.”

“You know I want you to do that,” Grania said in a low voice.

But perceptively she knew that what he resented at the moment was that because their two countries were at war he could not offer her the safety of his estate in Martinique and they could not meet as ordinary people of different nationalities might do.

They moved through the thickness of the shrubs and pine trees until the house was in sight, then Grania stopped.

Everything was very quiet, and she was certain that her father had not returned home.

Abe would have warned her if he had been sighted before he arrived.

At the same time because the
Comte
was with her she had to be careful and make sure that she was not taking him into danger.

She thought for a moment that he would leave her and return to his ship, but instead, when she moved forward again he kept beside her and they walked up the steps onto the verandah and in through the open door.

It was then she heard Abe’s voice talking to somebody in the kitchen and Grania called his name.

“Abe!”

He came to her instantly, and she saw that he was smiling and that all was well.

“Good news, Lady.”

“Of the Master?”

“No. No news from Maigrin House, but Momma Mabel come back.”

Grania gave a little exclamation of delight. Then she asked:

“To stay? To work?”

“Yes, Lady. Very glad to be back.”

“That is splendid!”

She turned to the
Comte
and asked:

“Would you,
Monsieur
do me the honour of dining here with me tonight? I cannot promise you a meal cooked by a French Chef, but my mother always thought that Momma Mabel was the best cook on the island.”

The
Comte
bowed.

“
Merci, Mademoiselle,
I have much pleasure in accepting your most gracious invitation.”

Grania gave a little laugh of delight.

“Shall we dine at seven-thirty?”

“I will not be late.”

The
Comte
bowed again, then turned and walked back the way they had come.

She watched him go until he was out of sight, then she said to Abe:

“Let us have a dinner-party the way we used to do it when Mama was here with the candelabra on the table and all the silver. Have we any wine?”

“One bottle, Lady,” Abe answered. “I hide from Master.”

Grania smiled.

Her mother when they had some really good wine, always kept a few bottles hidden for special occasions. Otherwise her father would drink it indiscriminately and share it with anybody who came to the house, whatever their status in life.

Now she was glad she had what she was sure was a good claret to offer the
Comte.

“Make a fruit drink for before dinner,” she said, “and of course coffee afterwards. I will go and speak to Momma Mabel.”

She went to the kitchen and as she expected Momma Mabel’s huge figure and wide smile seemed to fill the whole place.

She was an enormously fat woman, but actually she herself ate very little.

What she could do was to cook in a way which had made everybody on the island value the invitations they received to Secret Harbour.

Grania could remember the Governor complaining that they could never find anybody to cook as well as Momma Mabel, and she knew her mother suspected that he tried to entice her away with higher wages than she was receiving at Secret Harbour.

But Momma Mabel, like many of the other servants on the estate when her mother had been alive, thought of themselves as part of the family.

As long as they had enough to eat, whether they received high or low wages or none at all, was immaterial.

Grania talked to Momma Mabel in the kitchen for some time, then went to find Abe and as she expected he was cleaning the silver.

She watched him for a moment, then said in a low voice:

“If the Master returns you must warn
Monsieur
that he must not come.”

Abe thought this over before he nodded and said:

“’Morrow Bella come back.”

“I thought she must have gone away.”

“She not far.”

Bella was the maid who had looked after Grania since she was small and when she grew older had made all her gowns.

The Countess had taught her all the arts of being a lady’s-maid and Grania knew that when Bella returned she would be looked after and cosseted, and her clothes from London would last far longer than they would have done otherwise.

Then she thought that she was being over-optimistic: and her father would make her go back to Maigrin House and marry its owner, and Bella would not go with her.

Then she told herself that she must believe that when her father did arrive she would somehow convince him that she could not marry Roderick Maigrin, and that if they organised the plantation properly there would be enough money for them to live here quietly and be happy however much they might miss her mother.

“Please ... God, make him ... listen to me,” she prayed. “Please ... Please
...”

She felt her prayer wended its way towards the Heavens, and because she wanted to pray and also to look her best for her dinner-party she went upstairs to her bedroom.

Her trunks had not been unpacked and she knew Abe was wise to leave them for Bella.

Nevertheless, she searched until she found one of the prettiest gowns she owned.

It was one her mother had made for her just before
she grew ill, and although she was still ostensibly at School Grania was sometimes allowed to dine with her mother’s friends when there was a small party.

She held the gown up, shaking the creases out of the full skirt and knowing that the soft bodice with its small puffed sleeves was very becoming.

“I wonder if he will admire me,” she thought.