The Secret Woman (35 page)

She stopped and smiled at me.

I said: “You are an adventuress, Chantel.”

“What's wrong with adventure? Sir Francis Drake, Christopher Columbus, they were adventurers and the world applauded them. Why shouldn't I set out on my own voyage of discovery?”

“You never think that you could possibly fail?”

“Never,” she cried vehemently.

I was glad for her, and I laughed at myself for worrying about her loss of Rex. She was right. I was a simpleton. And she was right when she said that she achieved what she set out to do.

There was one thing I noticed in her conversation though; she always talked as though Redvers did not exist. She was determined to take me out of his reach. Dear Chantel! Her concern for me—while she planned such glorious adventures for herself—was touching.

***

It was late afternoon. I had been out for a short walk and had come back to my room to wash before dinner. As soon as I entered the room I had the odd feeling that everything was not as I had left it. Someone had been here. I dusted it myself so there was no need for Pero to come in. What was it? The cushion which had been on the Louis XV chair was now on one of the crude wooden chairs. I had not left it there. I was certain of that because I was always conscious of that chair. So someone had moved it.

It was not important. Pero could have come in, disturbed the cushion and put it back in the wrong place. All these thoughts were passing through my mind as I went to the drawer and, in accordance with my usual custom, felt for Redvers's letter.

It was not there.

So someone had been in my room! They had disturbed my things. I could tell that because the drawer in which the letter had been was not quite as I had left it. Someone had been in here spying and had found Redvers's letter.

There could never have been such a revealing letter. I knew it word for word. It was engraved on my memory and would stay so forever.

I went cold at the thought of anyone's reading that letter.

I went through everything, frantically searching. But I knew it was gone.

I thought of Monique's reading it. I imagined Suka creeping into my room, searching through my things, taking the letter to her mistress.

What damning evidence! I should have destroyed it.

There was a knock at my door and Chantel came in.

“I thought I heard you come back. Why…what's wrong?”

“I've…I've lost something.”

“What?”

I was silent.

“For goodness' sake, Anna,” she said sharply, “pull yourself together. What have you lost?”

“A letter,” I told her. “Redvers wrote a letter before he left. It was in this drawer.”

“A
love
letter?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Good God, Anna,” she said. “What a fool you are. You should have destroyed it.”

“I know, but one doesn't destroy such things.”

“He had no right to send it.”

“Please, Chantel, let me manage my own affairs.”

“You don't seem to be able to,” she said angrily. Even she was shaken. “If
she
has it…then there'll be trouble.”

“I believe Suka has stolen it. She'll give it to Monique. And she will think…”

“She may not give it to her.”

“For what other purpose would she take it?”

“How can we know what goes on in that mind of hers? She's an old witch. Oh Anna, I
wish
this hadn't happened.” She bit her lip. “I'll find out if she has it. And if I find it, Anna, I'm going to tear it up. I'm going to burn it and see the end of it with my own eyes.”

“What shall I do, Chantel?”

“Nothing. We'll just have to wait. Are you sure you've searched everywhere?”

“Everywhere.”

“I wish,” she said, “that we were out of this place. I wish I had you safe in Sydney. For Heaven's sake don't give any sign that you're uneasy. It may be that Suka couldn't read it. I'm sure she can't read. If she hasn't yet given it to Monique, we must get it and destroy it before she does.”

I felt limp with apprehension; but the fact that Chantel knew was of some small comfort.

***

That night Monique had a very bad attack and I was certain that she had seen the letter.

I felt sick with anxiety, wondering what would happen next.

I lay in my bed sleepless and it was midnight when the door softly opened and Chantel came in; she was wearing a long white nightdress, her hair loose about her shoulders, a lighted candle in her hand.

“Not asleep?” she said. “Monique's quiet now.”

“How is she?”

“She'll recover.”

“Did she…?”

“See the letter. No. It was nothing to do with that. She worked herself up to a fury because she said Edward never wanted to be with her. She shouted that nobody wanted her and that the sooner she was out of the way the better pleased some people would be.”

“It's terrifying, Chantel.”

“It's typical. She talked about you, too. She said you usurped her place and when the Captain returned she would not be here because she planned to kill herself.”

“She said that again?”

“She'll say it again and again and again, you'll see. It's becoming a parrot cry. Don't take it to heart.”

“And when she sees that letter…”

“Clearly Suka has it.”

“Why should she keep it?”

“Perhaps she thinks it some sort of spell. We have to stop her showing it to Monique. If she did show it all hell would be let loose. I suppose it's no use my telling you to sleep.”

“I'm afraid it's not.”

“Well, remember this. In a few weeks we shall be in Sydney. It's not long now, Anna.”

And that was my comfort.

All through the day I could hear the sound of distant drums. They unnerved me. They seemed to me as though they heralded some fearful climax. It was a week since I had lost the letter and Monique had given no sign that she had seen it. Chantel said that she had searched her room and it was not there. Suka must have it—that was unless I had put it somewhere else.

I was indignant. As if I would.

“Of course not,” said Chantel, faintly mocking. “You'd think it too precious.”

But she was worried as always by my relationship with Redvers.

And now the great feast day was with us. There was an air of tension throughout the house—indeed throughout the Island. People were already converging from all sides and as soon as it was sunset the great celebration would begin. In each native house great vats of Gali had been stored and these would be brought out when the feasting started.

Carts, the sides of which were decorated with branches of leaves, had been trundling up to that cliff where I had come upon Suka sitting staring at the rock in the water. This was where the feast would take place and the dances performed.

Madame had explained it all to me. We should not join in until after the feast which was for islanders only. We would go later and we would drink Gali from coconut shells and she advised us to drink sparingly as it was very potent. We should find the dances interesting she was sure, and in particular the flame dance which was the great event of the evening.

“It is really well worth seeing,” she said. “It's a tradition. The secret is passed down from generation to generation.”

“I have heard of these Flame Men,” I said.

“It's one of the sights of the Island. They will perform it only once a year. I suppose they think it would lose its importance if it were done too frequently.”

“Do the drums go on all day?” I asked.

“All day and all night.”

I shivered involuntarily.

“You do not like them?”

“I don't know what it is. There's something ominous about them.”

“Don't let them hear you say that. They say it is only the guilty who fear the beat of the drums.”

“They say that.”

“My dear Miss Brett, they say many strange things.”

***

Guilty, I thought. Guilty of loving another woman's husband. Every morning when I awoke I wondered what the day would hold for me. By night I dreamed often of Aunt Charlotte. I could not have been more haunted by Aunt Charlotte's death if I had been guilty of killing her.

And I asked myself, if I stayed with Chantel, how could I avoid meeting Redvers? It was strange how Chantel refused to consider this and always seemed to behave as though he did not exist.

Lucky Chantel, who had married the man of her choice!

The drums had started again. I pictured it…the scene on the cliff, the sound of the surf on the golden sand, the dark figure of the Woman of Secrets waiting for a spirit which she could capture that she might escape.

I wished that
Serene
Lady
was already in the bay.

***

That night we rode to the spot in the carriage. Monique was with us. Chantel had not wished her to come but she had grown hysterically imperious and Chantel gave way. She wore a long white flowing dress and red hibiscus in her hair which was loose all about her shoulders. Her eyes were alight with excitement. She looked completely Polynesian, like the spirit of the Island. Her eyes mocked me. It amused her, I knew, to witness my discomfiture; I think she thought it a joke that one so prim as I should be the “other woman” in her drama.

Chantel wore green—long and flowing. She had bought the dress on the Island and although the material was not rich it was soft and clinging and became her. She had plaited her hair and the thick braid was over one shoulder. I had not bought anything for the occasion. I wore my blue silk dress and my hair piled on top of my head in the normal way.

We rattled along the road and left the carriage with the others. We then walked up the slope to that plateau on which the dancing was already taking place. I had seen some of the native dances before. They were often performed near the waterfront on those “houses without walls,” which were really platforms covered with a roof of leaves and branches to keep off the sun.

The music was played on the guitar-like instruments with which I had become familiar. We sat down on the rug which we had brought for the purpose and coconut shells of Gali were handed to us. One sip—which I took warily—was enough to make one's veins feel as though fire was running through them. I knew it was highly intoxicating.

I glanced at Chantel beside me, her lovely eyes dilated. She was interested and amused, but I believed she was elated because she was thinking that she would soon be in Sydney with Rex.

Oh, lucky Chantel!

We applauded the dances, clapping our hands in the slow rhythmic way they did on the Island. They seemed interminable, those dances, and it was not very comfortable sitting on the rug.

But when the time came for the flame dance, the excitement was so fierce that I caught it. I knelt as so many did and was unaware of my aching knees. Two young men were stripped to the waist and wore loincloths only trimmed with flame-colored beads that flickered in the torchlight. Round their necks were rows of beads—red beads; on their arms more red beaded bangles; on their heads were beaded bandeaux of the same glittering red.

The dark sky was dotted with thousands of brilliant stars; the moon threw its pale yellow light on the great circle—dark faces, pale faces, all intent. I was aware of the scent of flowers, the pungent smell of the torches, the flaring light from them, the faint buzz of insects fatally attracted to the flame.

And the flame dancers were waiting. Their torches were brought ceremoniously to them by their old father—two for each man; the music started and the dance began. At first they twirled the flaming torches lightly; they threw them up into the air and caught them effortlessly. They stamped as they danced and threw the flaming sticks through the air, high up to fall and be caught as they fell. This could be done by any man who was ready to train for it. The real flame dance had not begun.

I do not know how they did it. They were so quick, so skillful. I only knew that at times we saw what appeared to be whirling balls of fire and inside them were the all but naked bodies of the dancers. They danced wildly, madly, and again and again the watchers caught their breath; they did not believe any man could be in the midst of such flame and be unhurt.

As the music slackened the balls of flame moved more slowly and it was seen that there were four flaming torches and two dancing men. We were spellbound.

This was the miracle the Flame Men had learned in the Fire Country and brought with them to Earth to be danced by none but men of their blood.

It was over. For one second there was a hushed and impressive silence, and then the wild applause broke out, the slow rhythmic clapping and the sudden shout “Kella Kella Ta'lui.”

It went on and on. There was an excited buzz of conversation. It was not natural. They had witnessed a miracle; the flame had grown cool for the sake of the Flame Men.

Chantel looked at me and grinned. I was afraid she was going to say something flippant and although her words might not have been understood, her mood might.

But there was a rustle of excitement. The two Flame Men were leading out a boy.

He was the son of one of them and he was going to dance the flame dance for the first time. As the son of his father the flame would grow cold for him too.

I felt my heart start to beat wildly. He looked so small and pathetic standing there in his little red-beaded ornaments, and with dawning horror I was certain that he was afraid.

I felt an impulse to stand up and shout: “This must not be.” But I did not. I knew I could not. The boy was going to perform as his elders had, and I knew that I was going to sit there in an agony of apprehension because I could sense his fear.

He stepped forward. Two torches were handed to him. He took them. He twirled them; he threw them into the air and caught them. I felt better. He was as agile as his elders.

The music had started—slowly at first but building up to a crescendo. The torches started to whirl, they were turning themselves into a ball of flame.

He can do it, I thought. They have taught him well.

Again that spellbound silence—the brilliant night sky, the impressive silence, and all eyes on that whirling ball of fire.

And then it happened, the most fearful scream I had ever heard. One of the torches shot into the air and the other followed and we saw the writhing figure, the flames enveloping his body, his hair on fire. He looked like a flaming torch himself.

Chantel was up. She was dragging the rug on which she had been sitting; she had reached the boy, wrapped him in the rug and was beating out the flames with her hands.

I was moved. It was a wonderful sight, but most of all because it was Chantel, Chantel the angel of mercy.

People were rushing forward. The two men in their glittering red ornaments were screaming.

I heard Chantel say in that authoritative tone of hers: “I'm a nurse. Stand aside.”

The boy who had been shrieking in pain stopped suddenly. I thought he was dead.

Chantel commanded one of the men to carry him into the nearest house, which was their own. She turned to me. “Go back and bring my bag, quick as you can.”

I didn't wait for any more. Jacques went with me to the carriage. He drove the horses back to the house with a speed that must have been very unfamiliar to them. I ran to her room, picked up the bag in which she kept her remedies and came out to the carriage.

All the way back memories of the boy's screams kept ringing in my ears.

We came to the house by a different route from that which I had taken on the day I had trespassed. The doctor was there, but considerably fuddled by too much Gali and it was Chantel who was in command.

She took the bag from me. “Don't leave, Anna,” she commanded. “Wait for me.”

I sat down on a stool. I kept thinking of the boy. I had known he was afraid. He was only a child really, and it was cruel to have submitted him to such an ordeal. And how magnificent Chantel had been in her flowing green and the plait over her shoulder.

It was hot in the room and I stepped out into the open. The trees looked eerie in the moonlight. The scent of their blossoms filled the air.

I thought, if he lives Chantel will have saved his life and we shall not have come to the Island in vain.

I walked round the house thinking of these things. I had no desire to go in again; it was much more pleasant outside. But after a while it occurred to me that Chantel might be waiting for me, so I went in. It was some moments before I realized that I had not returned through the door by which I had left. I groped my way across a floor on which I could faintly see rush mats. I was in a dark passage. This was not the way. I went through a room telling myself that I would get out of the house and walk round until I found the door by which I had left. The last thing I wanted to do was walk into the room where Chantel and the boy were. I must find my way back as carefully and silently as possible.

I groped my way along the passage and I saw in the dimness a door. I listened for the sound of voices. There was no sound. I tapped gently. There was no answer, so cautiously I opened the door hoping to find the room in which I had first waited.

But I was wrong. Two small rush lights were burning in this room. I caught my breath because it was arranged like that walled space I had seen out of doors. In the center of the room was a figure and round it a ring of glittering stones. One stone, larger than the rest, twinkled in the rush light; it seemed alive with red fire. But perhaps I was still seeing that nightmare outside. I felt as though I were impelled forward. The figure in the center was different from the one which I had seen outside; there was a look of familiarity about it.

I went close to it, stepping over the ring of stones. I knew it well. I had seen it many times. I had first discovered it in the escritoire which had come from Castle Crediton; I had kept it in my room; I still had it. It was the figurehead of
The
Secret
Woman
; only this was no replica. This was the real thing.

Her face was bland and smiling; her hair long as though flowing in a breeze and on her robes were the words “
The
Secret
Woman
.”

I could not believe that this was really so. A crude wooden stand had been made to support the figurehead and the surrounding stones sparkled with red and blue fire.

Then a blinding understanding came to me.

These were the Fillimore diamonds.

***

In the early morning we came back to Carrément. I was longing to tell Chantel about my find but I must wait until we were alone. She was in an exalted mood because she believed she had saved that boy's life, and undoubtedly it was her prompt action which had enabled her to beat out the flames. She talked of him. Everything had happened so quickly; he was not really so badly burned; his legs and arms would carry the scars through his life and he was very shocked, but she was certain that he would recover.

“Chantel,” I said, “you were magnificent.”

“I was ready,” she said. “I knew it was going to happen. No one could perform such a dance without the certainty that he was going to succeed; and that boy was afraid.”

“I sensed that too, but I was not prepared.”

“In fact,” said Chantel, “I was ready with the rug. That was why I reached him so soon, but I think when anything like that happens one acts without thought. What a sight…that poor child a mass of flame!”

“I shall never sleep tonight,” I said, “or what is left of it.”

“Nor I,” she replied.

When we reached the house Madame was waiting for us.