They began to chatter to her in this patois she could not follow - it must be Breton, had not Godolphin said something about the ship slipping across to the opposite coast - and they kept smiling and laughing at her in a familiar, idiotic way that she found infuriating, for it went ill with the heroic dignified part she wished to play. She folded her arms, and looked away from them, saying nothing. Then the first man appeared again - he had gone to warn their leader she supposed, the captain of this fantastic vessel - and beckoned her to follow him.

It was all different from what she had expected. These men were like children, enchanted with her appearance, smiling and whistling, and she had believed pirates to be desperate creatures, with rings in their ears and knives between their teeth.

The ship was clean - she had imagined a craft filthy and stained, and evil-smelling - there was no disorder about it, the paint was fresh and gay, the decks scrubbed like a man-o'-war and from the forward part of the ship, where the men lived she supposed, came the good hunger-making smell of vegetable soup. And now the man was leading her through a swinging door and down some steps, and he knocked on a further door, and a quiet voice bade him enter. Dona stood on the threshold, blinking a little, for the sun was streaming through the windows in the stern, making water patterns on the light wood panelling. Once again she felt foolish, disconcerted, for the cabin was not the dark hole she had imagined, full of empty bottles and cutlasses, but a room - like a room in a house - with chairs, and a polished table, and little paintings of birds upon the bulkheads. There was something restful about it, restful yet austere, the room of someone who was sufficient to himself. The man who had taken her to the cabin withdrew, closing the door quietly, and the figure at the polished table continued with his writing, taking no notice of her entrance. She watched him furtively, aware of sudden shyness and hating herself for it, she, Dona, who was never shy, who cared for nothing and for no one. She wondered how long he would keep her standing there; it was unmannerly, churlish, and yet she knew she could not be the first to speak. She thought of Godolphin suddenly, Godolphin with his bulbous eyes and the growth on the end of his nose, and his fears for his women-folk; what would he say if he could see her now, alone in the cabin with the terrible Frenchman?

And the Frenchman continued writing, and Dona went on standing by the door. She realised now what made him different from other men. He wore his own hair, as men used to do, instead of the ridiculous curled wigs that had become the fashion, and she saw at once how suited it was to him, how impossible it would be for him to wear it in any other way.

How remote he was, how detached, like some student in college studying for an examination; he had not even bothered to raise his head when she came into his presence, and what was he scribbling there anyway that was so important? She ventured to step forward closer to the table, so that she could see, and now she realised he was not writing at all, he was drawing, he was sketching, finely, with great care, a heron standing on the mud-flats, as she had seen a heron stand, ten minutes before.

Then she was baffled, then she was at a loss for words, for thought, even, for pirates were not like this, at least not the pirates of her imagination, and why could he not play the part she had assigned to him, become an evil, leering fellow, full of strange oaths, dirty, greasy-handed, not this grave figure seated at the polished table, holding her in contempt?

Then he spoke at last, only the very faintest trace of accent marking his voice, and still he did not look at her, but went on with his drawing of the heron.

"It seems you have been spying upon my ship," he said.

Immediately she was stung to anger - she spying! Good God, what an accusation!

"On the contrary," she said, speaking coldly, clearly, in the boyish voice she used to servants. "On the contrary, it seems your men have been trespassing upon my land."

He glanced up at once, and rose to his feet - he was tall, much taller than she had imagined - and into his dark eyes came a look surely of recognition, like a sudden flame, and he smiled slowly, as if in secret.

"My very humble apologies," he said. "I had not realised that the lady of the manor had come to visit me in person."

He reached forward for a chair, and she sat down, without a word. He went on looking at her, that glance of recognition, of secret amusement in his eyes, and he leant back in his chair, crossing his legs, biting the end of his quill.

"Was it by your orders that I was seized and brought here?" she said, because surely something must be said, and he would do nothing but look her up and down in this singular fashion.

"My men are told to bind anyone who ventures to the creek," he said. "As a rule we have no trouble. You have been more bold than the inhabitants, and, alas, have suffered from that boldness. You are not hurt, are you, or bruised?"

"No," she said shortly.

"What are you complaining about then?"

"I am not used to being treated in such a manner," she said, angry again, for he was making her look a fool.

"No, of course not," he said quietly, "but it will do you no harm."

God almighty, what insolence, what damned impertinence. Her anger only amused him though, for he went on tilting his chair and smiling, biting the end of his quill.

"What do you propose to do with me?" she said.

"Ah! there you have me," he replied, putting down his pen. "I must look up my book of rules." And he opened a drawer in the table and took out a volume, the pages of which he proceeded to turn slowly, with great gravity.

"Prisoners - method of capture - questioning - detainment - their treatment - etc., etc.," he read aloud, "h'm, yes, it is all here, but unfortunately these notes relate to the capture and treatment of male prisoners. I have made no arrangements apparently to deal with females. It is really most remiss of me."

She thought of Godolphin again, and his fears, and in spite of her annoyance she found herself smiling, remembering his words: "As the fellow is a Frenchman it is only a matter of time."

His voice broke in upon her thoughts. "That is better," he said. "Anger does not become you, you know. Now you are beginning to look more like yourself." "What do you know of me?" she said.

He smiled again, tilting forward on his chair. "The Lady St. Columb," he said, "the spoilt darling of the Court. The Lady Dona who drinks in the London taverns with her husband's friends. You are quite a celebrity, you know."

She found herself flushing scarlet, stung by the irony of his words, his quiet contempt.

"That's over," she said, "finished and done with."

"For the time being, you mean."

"No, forever."

He began whistling softly to himself, and reaching for his drawing continued to play with it, sketching in the background.

"When you have been at Navron a little while you will tire of it," he said, "and the smells and sounds of London will call to you again. You will remember this mood as a passing thing."

"No," she said.

But he did not answer, he went on with his drawing.

She watched him, stung with curiosity, for he drew well, and she began to forget she was his prisoner and that they should be at enmity with one another.

"That heron was standing on the mud, by the head of the creek," she said, "I saw him, just now, before I came to the ship."

"Yes," he answered, "he is always there, when the tide ebbs. It is one of his feeding grounds. He nests some distance away though, nearer to Gweek, up the main channel. What else did you see?"

"An oyster-catcher, and another bird, a curlew, I think it was."

"Oh, yes," he said, "they would be there too. I expect the hammering drove them away."

"Yes," she said.

He continued his little tuneless whistle, drawing the while, and she watched him, thinking how natural it was, how effortless and easy, to be sitting here, in this cabin, on this ship, side by side with the Frenchman, while the sun streamed in through the windows and the ebb-tide bubbled round the stern. It was funny, like, a dream, like something she had always known would happen, as though this was a scene in a play, in which she must act a part, and the curtain had now lifted, and someone had whispered: "Here - this is where you go on."

"The night-jars have started now, in the evenings," he said, "they crouch in the hillside, farther down the creek. They are so wary though, it's almost impossible to get really close."

"Yes," she said.

"The creek is my refuge, you know," he said, glancing up at her, and then away again. "I come here to do nothing. And then, just before the idleness gets the better of me, I have the strength of mind to tear myself away, to set sail again."

"And commit acts of piracy against my countrymen?" she said.

"And commit acts of piracy against your countrymen," he echoed.

He finished his drawing, and put it away, and then rose to his feet, stretching his arms above his head.

"One day they will catch you," she said.

"One day… perhaps," he said, and he wandered to the window in the stern, and looked out, his back turned to her.

"Come and look," he said, and she got up from her chair and went and stood beside him, and they looked down to the water, where there floated a great cluster of gulls, nosing for scraps.

"They come in dozens, always," he told her; "they seem to know at once when we return, and they come in here from the headlands. My men will feed them, I can't prevent them. And I am as bad myself. I am always throwing crumbs to them, from the windows here." He laughed, and reaching for a crust of bread, he tossed it to them, and the gulls leapt upon it, screaming and fighting.

"Perhaps they have a fellow feeling for the ship," he said; "it is my fault for naming her La Mouette."

"La Mouette - the Sea-gull - why, of course," she said, "I had forgotten what it meant," and they went on watching the gulls, leaning against the window.

"This is absurd," Dona thought, "why am I doing this, it is not what I meant, not what I intended. By now surely I should be bound with ropes and thrust into the dark hold of the ship, gagged and bruised, and here we are throwing bread to the sea-gulls, and I have forgotten to go on being angry."

"Why are you a pirate?" she said at last, breaking the silence.

"Why do you ride horses that are too spirited?" he answered.

"Because of the danger, because of the speed, because I might fall," she said.

"That is why I am a pirate," he said.

"Yes, but…"

"There are no 'buts.' It is all very simple really. There are no dark problems about it. I have no grudge against society, no bitter hatred of my fellow-men. It just happens that the problems of piracy interest me, suit my particular bent of thought. It is not just a matter of brutality and bloodshed, you know. The organisation takes many hours of many days, every detail of a landing has to be thought out, and prepared. I hate disorder, or any slipshod method of attack. The whole thing is very much like a geometrical problem, it is food for the brain. And then - well - then I have my fun, my spice of excitement, my beating of the other fellow. It is very satisfying, very absorbing."

"Yes," she said. "Yes, I understand."

"You are puzzled, aren't you," he said, laughing down at her, "because you expected to find me drunk here on the floor, surrounded by blood and knives and bottles and shrieking women."

1 ... 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 ... 41

На этой странице вы можете бесплатно читать книгу Frenchmans Creek - Daphne du Maurier бесплатно.

Похожие на Frenchmans Creek - Daphne du Maurier книги

Невинная грешница - Конни Мейсон - Исторические любовные романы
Лучезарно-голубое - Шарлотта Армстронг - Исторические любовные романы
Пламенные эвкалипты - Хэран Элизабет - Исторические любовные романы
Серебряное прикосновение - Розалинда Лейкер - Исторические любовные романы
Тибетское пророчество - Мэйдлин Брент - Исторические любовные романы
Покорение Гедеона - Бронуин Уильямс Бронуин Уильямс - Исторические любовные романы
Гонцы весны - Эльза Вернер - Исторические любовные романы
Любовь и честь - Мередит Дьюран - Исторические любовные романы
Ранний брак - Салли Маккензи - Исторические любовные романы
Тайна семейного портрета. Любовь сквозь века - Марина Евсеева - Исторические любовные романы / Короткие любовные романы / Остросюжетные любовные романы

Оставить комментарий