The peasants were now responding in chorus to the prayer for the dead and Marianne made an effort to remember the ritual words but she was far too agitated. Her mind remained a blank. Not that it mattered much. She was certain that Black Fish's coming was an answer to her prayer.

The prayer ended, Morvan left his place of honour in the room and came forward to greet the newcomer.

'I have not seen you before, my man. Who are you?'

'His cousin,' Black Fish answered pointing with one hairy finger to the dead man. 'Like him, I am from Goulven. I was coming to see him when I heard the news. Poor Vinoc! Such a good fellow!'

Before Marianne's astonished eyes, he wiped away what must have been quite imaginary tears. But he was convincing enough, for Morvan had no suspicions. He even made him welcome, bowing instinctively to the strict laws of baronial hospitality.

'In that case, remain. Watch with us and share in this night's meal.'

Black Fish bowed without speaking and moved back to join the group of peasants. With shoulders hunched, and both hands leaning heavily on his pen bas, [4] he was hardly distinguishable from the other men and Marianne returned to her prayers without being able to meet his eye. From that moment on, she could think of nothing but the silent figure upon whom so much might depend. She had no idea how he came there, or why, but she was convinced it was for her. She was a prey to a fever of excitement that soon made it quite impossible for her to remain on her knees any longer. She rose, putting on an agonized expression as if she were suffering from a pain in her knees. At once a peasant woman came to take her place. Morvan frowned but told her in a low voice to go and join Soizic in the kitchen. Marianne asked nothing better, but, much as she longed to make contact with Black Fish, she dared not pass too close to him on her way out. They had no chance to communicate until after nightfall, when the whole household gathered round the old woman whose part it was to intone a kind of funeral chant in honour of the dead man. There was, inevitably, a certain amount of confusion as everyone gathered around the bier and Marianne felt a touch on her elbow. A voice whispered in English:

'Tomorrow – during the burial – try and faint at the church—'

She looked round in surprise but all she saw was the pious face of a little old woman whose nose all but touched her chin, mumbling prayers through toothless gums. Only, a little way away, she saw the sailor's broad back moving to a place among the men.

To Marianne, the wake was almost intolerable. She heard nothing but the old woman's funeral chant, nibbled a little at the customary meal which was served at midnight, and certainly she spared not a thought for the dead who in any case scarcely deserved it. Black Fish's words went round and round in her head, putting her in a fever of apprehension. He had asked her to faint in church but that was a great deal harder than it looked. Marianne had fainted only once before in her whole life and that was at the moment when, swept overboard from the Seagull and half drowned, she had been hooked by the wrecker's gaff. Then, pain and suffocation had made her lose consciousness but how did one set about fainting convincingly in cold blood? Occasionally, in England, she had witnessed frail, delicate creatures swooning gracefully at the right moment, while losing none of their fresh complexions, and had guessed readily that it was all put on, but this had to be a really convincing faint, something to create a stir, not a mere gentle swoon. Well, she would do her best and leave the rest to heaven.

She was so deep in her thoughts that it was not until she reached the door of her own room that she saw that Gwen had followed her. Only the men were now keeping up the wake. The women had been given permission to retire to rest. But when the girl seemed about to come in with her, Marianne objected.

'This is my room,' she said curtly.

'It is mine, too, for tonight. And don't think I'm enjoying it. I'm carrying out Morvan's orders, that's all, and I can't say I'm sorry he's got suspicious of you at last!'

The girl's insolent and familiar tone which showed that she no longer felt the need for circumspection, made Marianne's aristocratic blood rise. If Gwen wanted a quarrel, she would get one. Seizing her abruptly by the arm Marianne hustled her into the room more quickly than she might have wished. Then she closed the door carefully behind her.

'Something tells me he would do well to be suspicious of you too, my girl! And since we are to finish the night together, we may as well make the most of it and have it out once and for all!'

This abrupt beginning had at least the advantage of disconcerting Gwen. A shadow of cunning and mistrust spread over her pretty face.

'Have it out? Have what out?'

'Your behaviour! It seems to me there is plenty to say about that. So, you've come to tell me that Morvan does not trust me. And what is the reason? Because Jean Le Dru has escaped? If that is it, he is mistaken. I had nothing to do with it, I cannot say the same for you!'

'And why not, pray?'

'Because you let him go!'

A moment earlier, Marianne had been by no means certain but now that she had spoken the words aloud she saw to her surprise that she had always known it. In fact, the look on Gwen's face was an admission. Marianne went on without giving her time to prepare.

'No use denying it. I know.'

'How do you know?' Gwen said, abandoning contradiction.

'That is my business. I know and that should be enough for you. But what I don't know, is why you did it. And that is something I should be very glad to know.'

Gwen smiled nastily. 'Go and ask Morvan! You'll get nothing out of me.'

'Ask Morvan? That may not be such a bad idea. But don't expect me to believe that he had anything to do with it. But after all, why not appeal to him. I'll tell him—'

'That you are no more the princes' agent than I am! He's begun to suspect already, but I daresay he'd be glad to know for sure. And then tomorrow there'll be a nice meal for the fishes!'

Marianne did not flinch at this. She even permitted herself the luxury of a smile.

'Why not? I have nothing to lose, I have lost it all already. But I can tell him that you were the one that let his prisoner go – a prisoner who served that Surcouf whom he seems to dislike so heartily – and it may be that the fishes will get a double ration. I wish you could have seen him out on the headland when his prisoner sailed past thumbing his nose at him!'

Without bothering to check the effect of her words on Gwen's face, Marianne walked over to the hearth, picked up the tongs and began teasing some life into the still glowing embers. A meditative silence fell between them. Marianne busied herself putting more logs on the fire, waiting patiently for the other girl to make up her mind. At last:

'What do want to know?' Gwen muttered sullenly.

'I told you. Why did you help Jean to escape?'

'Because you needed him! I saw you going out to him and I followed you. I heard what you said – nearly all of it!'

'Well?' Marianne said calmly.

'So I realized you would be lost without him, that you needed him to lie for you. I went in to him after you'd gone. He was asleep and I had quite a job to wake him. But, once he was awake, he was very interested to hear what I had to say.'

'And what had you to say?'

'That you had been lying to him. That you were an English spy on your way to St Malo. That your purpose was to gain an introduction to Surcouf by telling some trumped up hard luck story – everyone knows how softhearted he is – and then use your charms on him to make him stop his ships attacking the English. You are quite pretty enough to do it and though the king of the Corsairs may not be very young, he still has an eye for beauty—'

'And he believed you?' Marianne cried, remembering bitterly all she had done to earn the Breton's trust.

'Straight off! Your tale about the duel was a bit hard to swallow too! And he'd seen for himself how far you'd go to get a man on your side. Besides, we are both Bretons after all. We stand up for one another. It wasn't very difficult. Your story was too farfetched. The only piece of luck was in guessing you were going to St Malo when you were wrecked.'

It was all Marianne could do not to give way to utter fury. Everything she had done had been turned against her. Between them, they had made a complete fool of her. So that was all the trust that could be placed in a man's word? No sooner was she out of his arms than Jean was ready to believe everything this girl told him simply because they came from the same land? Or had Gwen paid the same price? But Marianne was making rapid progress in the art of self-control. She merely shrugged and glanced at her companion with contempt.

'Congratulations! You are cleverer than I thought. Now, tell me, what harm have I done you to make you so determined to destroy me? Quite unwittingly, I borrowed your dress. That is a slender grudge!'

'And Morvan? Morvan never took his eyes off you, he cast me aside! You think I would let you take my place?' Gwen flung back savagely.

'Your place? An enviable one to be sure! The mistress of a highway robber, a wrecker who will end his days at a rope's end! It would have been easier for you to help me escape!'

'But not so certain! Only the dead are really safe! And that's why I shall watch you like a hawk until you are unmasked completely and—'

'Much good may it do you!' Marianne sighed irritably. 'Well, guard me if you insist, only let me sleep. I'm going to bed.'

She realized that there was nothing to be gained from Gwen. The girl was too unintelligent and, with her primitive instincts, she knew only one way of getting rid of anyone who was a nuisance to her. They must die. She had released Jean Le Dru in order to cut Marianne off from all help and now she was waiting with cat-like patience for the arrival of the mysterious visitor who, she believed, would finally unmask her enemy and sign the death warrant. Further argument was useless. It was better to try and build up her strength for the next day.

In the great hall the wake was still going on. Even through the thick walls Marianne could hear the slow, mournful chanting. She shivered. The discordant sound of the men's voices might have been the wailing of those very doomed souls which, according to the Breton Legend, emerged at night to haunt the roads and to reproach the living for their selfish pleasures. She did her best to shake off the dismal idea. At this time tomorrow, she hoped to be quit of this gloomy place.


***

The weather, as the funeral procession left the manor, was quite dreadful. Squalls of wind and rain were flattening the gorse and whin bushes and turning the sodden lane into quagmires. The sky was so grey and lowering that it seemed actually to be pressing down on their heads, and the conditions were so bad that the cart which would ordinarily have been used to take the body to the cemetery had to given up. Instead, four strong men carried the coffin on their shoulders, getting what shelter they could from the rough wood. At the head of the procession rode the parish priest on horseback, saying prayers as he went. The household and friends followed as best they could, backs bent against the unceasing wind on which was carried the faint sound of the passing bell. Only the tailor, crouching over his work, was left in the house. But he was not really a man—

Marianne, wrapped in a thick black cloak with the hood pulled well down over her eyes, walked with the other women, hemmed in on one side by Gwen, still plainly showing her dislike, and on the other by old Siozic who was too busy with her beads to notice her at all. But Marianne was not interested in her neighbours. She watched the small grey granite belfry rise above the heath land and thought of Black Fish. Why was he so anxious to help her escape? She had paid him to take her to France and she was in France. His part of the bargain was fulfilled and she was no longer any concern of his. And yet, he had taken still further risks to get her away from Morvan. What had he to gain? And if she went with him, to what new perils might he lead her? It was all getting stranger and stranger! At any rate, she could not well be worse off. She had seen that in the cold glance Morvan had given her as they set out. His demand that she attend the funeral was purely in order to keep her under his eye. She could not be left at the manor and no one could stay with her.