Chapter 15 The Black Swan by Rafael Sabatini
Pearls
Tom Leach, deliberately and calculatingly watchful, observed from a distance the departure that morning of Major Sands and de Bernis. He recognized it to be in accordance with a daily habit that had become established, just as he knew that their absence commonly endured for a couple of hours. Curiosity as to whither they went so regularly had never really pricked him. After all, within the limits of Maldita it could have no significance.
If curiosity had not been aroused before, it was certainly not aroused this morning. Since yesterday the buccaneer had been wrapped in a moody absorption which seemed to render him indifferent to his surroundings. The disturbing vision of the bathing-pool abode with him so that he could see nothing else. Before his eyes swam ever the incredible beauty of that slim form, with limbs, seen through water, as white and smooth as alabaster, a loveliness such as Tom Leach had never suspected to exist in nature. To the feverish, gloating contemplation with the eyes of memory of that irresistibly alluring vision was added an unreasoning, savage, torturing rage at the chance frustration yesterday of his intentions, and an unreasoning, savage, blind resolve to take amends for that at the first opportunity.
Congreve had not yet written that line so apposite to Captain Leach's case: 'Woman is a fair image in a pool; he who leaps at her is sunk.' But if he had written it, and Captain Leach, acquainted with it, had perceived in it a warning to him now, in a double sense of which the poet had no thought, he must still have disregarded it. For if, contrary to custom where his lusts were concerned, the buccaneer may have chanced to weigh the consequences of what he contemplated, it follows that they did not daunt him.
It was within those consequences--unless he were exceptionally fortunate--that he would have to reckon with de Bernis. But when had he ever shrunk from a reckoning? What man had ever made him quail, or deviate by a hand's breadth from an evil goal? He would take a short way with that impudent, supercilious Frenchman whose days, indeed, were already numbered.
To Bartholomew Sands he did not even give a thought. The fellow was utterly negligible. And he would have accounted de Bernis just as negligible save that the consequences of quieting him would involve abandoning the enterprise of the Spanish plate fleet. This might make trouble with the buccaneers. But Leach would justify himself with the tale that de Bernis had attacked him, and that he had killed him in self-defence. Very probably, he thought, with a grin, the tale would be true.
As for the loss to himself of his share of the Spanish gold, what was all the treasure of Spain to him compared with this other treasure which lay here ready to his hand, tormenting him with its irresistible allurement?
In his madness either he did not reflect, or else he was impatient of the reflection, that, by the exercise of patience and by proceeding according to the intentions which Wogan had first inspired in him, he might reduce into possession both the treasure and the girl. Patience was in the eyes of Tom Leach a weakness, almost a form of cowardice.
And so you see him purposefully crossing that beach, so soon as Monsieur de Bernis and his companion had passed into the wood, and gaining the threshold of the hut, in the shade of which Priscilla sat now alone.
Something in his attitude, above all the leer with which, bareheaded, he appeared before her, instantly shattered that sense of security in her which had seemed so solidly founded on the manifest chivalry of Monsieur de Bernis.
Looking up, she strove to conceal the sudden alarmed flutter in her breast. If her eyes dilated a little, at least she compelled her utterance to be calm, level, and unhurried.
'You seek my husband, sir. He is not here.'
The leer broadened. 'I know that. I saw him go. So, ye see, it's not him I's seeking.'
On that he paused. His close-set eyes were pondering her, so white and slim and golden. They stripped away the long-waisted gown of green taffetas with the ivory-coloured lace bordering the low-cut line of neck, and glowed as they beheld her once again as he had seen her yesterday in the pool. And yet, for all his ardour, he faltered a little, now that he was face to face with her, now that his eyes met the clear, candid gaze of eyes from which she spiritedly banished every trace of fear. He knew no way of wooing that was not rough, direct, and brutal, like all else that he did. Yet here instinct informed him that something other was demanded; that too rude a grasp might merely crush this fruit for which he thirsted.
He was glad, therefore, of an inspiration which had come to him that morning and which was responsible for the line he took. From an inner pocket of his faded scarlet coat he drew a little leather bag. He untied the neck of it as he came forward to stand by the table.
'I've brought thee a little gift,' he said. He opened the mouth of the bag, and, placing his right hand as a barrier on the table to prevent the contents from rolling too far, he poured forth a dozen shimmering, lustrous pearls of price.
'Beauties, isn't they?' Still leaning over the table, he grinned up at her in expectancy, for she had risen from her seat.
He had experience of the queer fascination such toys can exercise upon a woman. More than once he had seen covetousness gleam in a woman's eyes as they considered those lovely, lightly iridescent spheres, and a hunger of possession whose gratification was not to be denied, whatever the cost. He had memories of reluctances defeated in Campeche, in Tortuga, in Mariegalante and elsewhere by just a couple of these seductive baubles. Never yet had he poured out as a gift to a woman so incredible a cascade as this; but then never yet had he seen a woman so incredibly desirable.
Every man's view of life is based upon his own experiences. Like drawing like into its intimacies, the vile man meets only vileness and therefore accounts the world vile. So it was with some confidence that this crude animal displayed his dazzling offering.
The result, however, was not at all what he expected. If for a moment--breathless to him--her eyes were caught and held by those gleaming orbs, in the next they were regarding him so oddly and coldly that it was clear she had entirely escaped their fascination.
'I do not think my husband would wish me to accept a gift.' So that was it. She went in fear of that pestilent husband.
'Damn husband! There's pearls. Aye, and beauties. Fit for thee neck they is. They mind me of you, sink me. Just as sleek and lovely as thee, my pearly lass.'
Frozen in a make-believe composure, she coldly answered him: 'I'll tell my husband that you think so.'
'Eh?' The leering smile faded from his swarthy hawk-like face. He gaped at her, momentarily nonplussed. Then he laughed outright to cover a certain sense of discomfiture. His tone was of a grossly playful gallantry. 'Can ye not forget this plaguey husband for a while?'
She curbed a desire to answer sharply. Although fear grew in her, it did not cloud her wits. She must humour this horror of a man, fence with him as best she could, so as to ward off indignities. And she must maintain an air of fearlessness. Therefore, lest her tremors should betray her real feelings, she sat down.
'Were you never married, Captain Leach?' she asked him, with significance.
But this merely opened for him a line of direct attack. 'Not I. Ye see, it isn't many of us has th' luck o' Topgallant Charley, to find such a rare lass as thee. If that had happened to me, I might well ha' done the same as him.'
'I'll tell my husband what you say. It will flatter him.'
His colour darkened. She began to exasperate him with this persistent mention of her husband, and he was not deceived as to her motive, nor did she desire that he should be. 'Thee's well-matched with him in pertness, lass,' he growled. Then he, too, began to play comedy, and covered his rising anger with a mask of playfulness. 'But that's naught against thee. Odds fish! I loves a lass o' spirit, and I hates your mealy-mouthed sickly doxies, I does.' He flung himself down on the ground at her feet. 'Now where's harm o' praising thee beauty? Dunnot thee like a man to speak his mind?'
She answered him readily out of her simulated boldness. 'That depends upon what's in it.'
'Ye should be able to guess what's in mine, if anybody could.' Leaning upon his elbow, he looked up at her, leering again. 'Shall I tell thee? Shall I?'
'I am not curious, Captain Leach.'
Nevertheless he answered his own question. 'Thee self,' said he. 'Just thee self. There's been little else in my mind since first I seen thee, that day we took Centaur.'
His ardent, watchful eyes observed a growing agitation in her bosom, which argued to him that at last he was upon the course that led to port. He was pleased with himself for having adopted now these tactics. Although this form of dalliance was entirely new to him, yet it was clear that his instincts steered him shrewdly. 'There's naught I wouldn't do for thee, lass. Naught as ye could ask me.'
'Is that really so?'
'Try me. Put me to th' test.'
'Very well. I ask you to leave me, sir, and to take your pearls with you.'
He flushed again. Under his little black moustache his lip curled in a vicious grin that laid bare a dog-tooth. 'And is that so? Is that all ye can ask o'me? Odds fish! Happen you ask the one thing I canna be granting. See? As for th' pearls, I want to see them worn against thee neck. Thee whiteness'll set t'm off, or maybe shame them. For thee's wondrous white. White as a lily thee is, from head to foot, as I should know.'
She threw up her chin sharply, her brows knit, her voice stern. 'As you should know?'
He gloated over the answer it was his to return to that pert question. He laughed a little. 'If a man may believe his eyes.' He came up on his knees, suddenly to confront her, and she observed that he had lost colour, that his eyes smouldered as if a fever raged in him, whilst his full lips writhed in a smile that made her shudder. 'Dunnot be afeared. I seen thee yesterday, whiles ye swam in the pool yonder, the loveliest sight as ever I saw. D'ye marvel now, lass, that I bring pearls to deck thee loveliness?'
Slowly the colour rose in her until her face and neck were a scarlet flame. She attempted to stand up. But his arms were suddenly across her knees, pinning her to her chair, his face was close to her breast.
It was only then, under that intolerable contact, that she realized the full horror of her situation, alone there, with Monsieur de Bernis, Major Sands, and Pierre all absent and not likely to return for perhaps an hour.
Bravely she sought to struggle with her mounting fears, to preserve control of herself that thus she might still perhaps preserve control of him. By an effort she kept her voice firm and hard.
'Captain Leach, let me go. Let me go!' Then, fear beginning to conquer prudence, 'Let me go, you beast!' she added.
She attempted to elude the pressure of his arms, so as to thrust back her chair, and rise. But Leach was suddenly rendered mad by rage at this clearly expressed loathing of him. He told himself that he had been a fool to waste time and words with this cold proud piece. He was rightly served for his folly by her insult. He should have taken the short way with her from the outset instead of wasting patience in this mawkish dalliance.
'Beast, am I? Well, well, my lass, mebbe I'll give thee cause to call me that. Mebbe thee'll be less likely to call me that when I've done so. I've tamed hawks as proud as thee afore now, made them that tame they'd coo like turtle doves. Mebbe thee'll learn to coo as gently. And if thee dunnot, what odds?'
Still kneeling before her, so that she could feel the buckle of his belt pressing against her knees, he held her now firmly imprisoned in the coil of his right arm. His left hand seized and crushed lace and silk at the line of her throat. With a snarling laugh he tore the summit of the bodice.
'There's pearls!' he exulted. 'Pearls!'
She drowned his words in a scream drawn from her by his brutal violence.
'Thee'd best save thee breath, lass. Screeching won't help. Cooing may, though.'
Slobbering and snarling, he drew her irresistibly towards him, out of the chair, which he intended to knock from under her.
Her livid face was distorted now into a grin of stark terror. 'God! O God!' she cried, and never was prayer more fervent.
Nor was ever answer more prompt. Suddenly before her dilating, terrified eyes, as they looked over the shoulder of Captain Leach, surged the tall figure of Monsieur de Bernis.
Providentially that morning, as he was proceeding with the Major to their practice-ground beyond the bluff, it had occurred to him to step down to the beach for a word with the men at work upon the hull of the careened ship, and so as to see for himself precisely the stage which their work had reached.
Standing there in the open, the distant scarlet figure of Captain Leach had caught his eye. He had seen him moving swiftly across the shore in the direction of Priscilla's hut, and he had seen him vanish into it. Without apprehending anything approaching the truth, it had yet seemed to him that it might be as well if he were to return and join them. Under the eyes of the buccaneers he had begun by sauntering casually back towards his own encampment, followed by the Major, who, having observed nothing, went plaguing him with questions as to this change of intention. Midway, Monsieur de Bernis had suddenly lengthened his stride, and left the Major, to whom hurry was distasteful in that heat, to follow at his leisure.
In those long, swift strides of his that made no sound upon the sand, Monsieur de Bernis reached the hut to see for himself how urgently his coming was required.
Captain Leach, too absorbed to observe the shadow cast by this newcomer, was startled by a sudden sharp tap upon the shoulder.
'You are at your prayers, I perceive, Captain. I am desolated to disturb you. But Madame de Bernis is not an object for your so immediate adoration.'
Tom Leach leapt up and round with the athletic agility of a cat, his hand going by instinct to his belt.
Monsieur de Bernis had stepped a little aside, so as to leave the entrance clear. His face was very white, and it wore a smile rendered terrible by the expression of his eyes.
'By all means continue in your worship of Madame de Bernis. I desire it so. But at a distance. At a distance in the future, if you please. Let your worship of her be such as you might bestow upon a saint in heaven. Thus it will be better for you, safer for all.'
Imperiously he waved an arm in dismissal, indicating by it the exit which he had left clear, but beyond which the sturdy figure of Major Sands was looming.
Leach, with his back turned now upon Priscilla, stood, breathing hard, crouching a little as if gathering his muscles for a spring. He spoke in a thick voice that rage was strangling. 'By God! You grinning jackanapes! D'ye know what happens to them as gets spry wi' Cap'n Leach?'
'You would do better to ask yourself what may happen to him who gets spry with Madame de Bernis.' And again it was his gesture that uttered dismissal.
'Hellfire! I admire thee boldness! But don't carry it too far with me. See?' He slunk a step or two towards the door and the round-eyed Major, but keeping his glance the while on de Bernis. 'Thee's a tall fine figure o' a man, so thee is. But I've made carrion o' finer fellows than thee, Charley, and don't thee be forgetting it.'
'I'll remember it,' said de Bernis grimly. 'Meanwhile, you'ld best go while my patience lasts. Ye may have heard that it's not eternal.'
'Ye threaten, do ye! Well, well! I wonder is there another man alive who can boast that?'
He stepped out of the hut, and, coming suddenly against Major Sands, thrust him roughly, vigorously out of his way, glad to find something under his hand upon which to express in violence the rage that was choking him. But before he had gone six paces, de Bernis' voice arrested him again.
'You've forgotten something.'
Monsieur de Bernis stood at the entrance of the hut, holding in his hand the pearls which he had swept up from the table. As he spoke, he flung them at the Captain.
Some of them struck him, and some did not, but all of them--a dozen pearls that he would not have sold for a thousand pieces of eight, but which in his stormy condition he had forgotten--were scattered in the sand.
After a breathless, raging moment, he went down on hands and knees spitting and snarling like a cat to grovel for them without any thought for the ridiculous, ignominious anti-climax which this supplied.