Unclaimed Heart (22 page)

Alexandre sighed. Now he would have to go and get her.

He climbed down into his boat, untied it and began to row. The sun had slipped away, and the water was dark. She would be frightened, possibly cold . . . but he couldn't find any sympathy in his heart for her.

She saw him coming and began to wave madly. He adopted a grim expression and pulled up next to her.

“You came for me!” she sighed. “Oh, I thought I was done for! I thought I would drown!”

He tied her boat to his wordlessly and began to row towards shore.

“Not speaking to me, Alexandre? Has my father forbidden it? Oh, cruel Father! How am I to learn French without you? How am I to go on?”

As he rowed, she kept talking. And talking. Finally, he helped her ashore. She tripped—rather too extravagantly to be genuine—and fell into him. He caught her and tried to stand her back up. But she clung to him like a limpet.

“Alexandre,” she said. “They have forbidden us to be together, but my parents know little about what I do. Meet me on the path to town, tomorrow at dawn.”

He extricated himself from her embrace, putting his hands in front of him, palms out, to keep her away. Finally, he spoke. “No, Orlanda.”

“You needn't worry. I'll be careful that Father doesn't find out.”

“No. Orlanda, no.”

“But I love you! Love is more important than rules, than the opinions of others.”

It is
, he thought. “I don't love you, Orlanda.”

“Come now,” she said, laughing nervously. “Of course you do. I've seen it in your eyes. Your feelings for me—”

“Are not love. You are a nice girl, but I do not love you. I could never love you.” He pushed his boat back into the water and climbed in. “Please, stay out of boats. I shouldn't like you to come to any harm.”

She began to cry, great howling sobs.

He rowed, until the sound of the sea drowned her out.

Constance paced her room. It was nighttime and she was supposed to be sleeping, just as everybody else in the villa was sleeping, but she couldn't rest.

She needed to speak to Alexandre. She had gone over this in her head a hundred times. To get to Ranumaran alone was impossible. She could ask Victor for help with his elephants, but it would require too much intimacy. Already, she had fended off three of his calling cards. She couldn't walk that far through jungles and swamps, and she certainly couldn't row. But the
Queen of Pearls
would make the journey in just a few hours, and it was her father's ship after all. . . .

But how to speak to Alexandre? He had stopped coming to the beach at sunset, no doubt warned away by Father. Days were slipping by, and Ranumaran seemed to be getting further and further away.

She went to the window. The beat of the ocean. A piece of moon. Was he looking towards shore, thinking of her too? Her face flushed as she remembered the last time they had seen each other.

This was the other pressing reason to see Alexandre: because she simply
had to
. Because if she didn't she would wither and die, like a flower denied sunlight.

Constance moved to the dresser and grabbed her rushlight in its pretty tin lamp. She placed it in the window. If he were looking, he might see the light; he might deduce she needed to see him. She kept her dress on, refusing to admit the possibility that he wouldn't come, and lay down to wait.

Within half an hour, the rattle came. A shell, hitting the lamp. She rose and went to the window. There he was. She waved, then indicated he should meet her at the dancing room.

Silently, silently through the house, clutching Nissanka's map in her hand. Then running through the garden and into his arms.

He kissed her. The world slowed down a few moments, then he stood back. His eyes were dark pools. “I'm glad you called me,” he said.

“I'm glad you came.”

“I shouldn't be here.”

“I know. But I need your help.” She handed him the map and urged him out onto the moonlit beach. He examined it closely as she explained what Nissanka had told her.

“I need to get to Ranumaran,” she said. “And the only way I can think of to get there is by sea.”

“On
La Reine des Perles
,” he said, nodding. “But Constance, I can't sail her single-handedly. You'll have to help.”

“I'll do whatever I have to,” she said. “I'm so grateful.”

“We'll have to sail at night,” he said. “Your father will notice the pearler is missing otherwise.”

Constance felt a pang of guilt, realizing suddenly that Alexandre had much more to lose than she did. If they were discovered, Father would not give him another chance.

Alexandre seemed to read her thoughts. “It's all right, Constance. He won't find out. With good winds we'll be there and back before dawn.”

“And if he does find out,” Constance said, “I'll tell him I ordered you. It's his ship, after all, and I'm his daughter and . . . by then we'll have found Mother so he'll be too busy thinking about that.” She took a deep breath, trying to convince herself that it was all true.

Alexandre grasped her hands, bringing them to his lips. “I'd do anything for you,” he murmured, his hot breath tickling her fingers.

A gorgeous, melting feeling coursed through her.

“You should go.” He released her. “Sleep, Constance. Sleep as much as you can, for there will be none tomorrow night. Meet me here at midnight.”

“I will.”

Alexandre was in his hammock, sleeping late into the morning, when he heard voices up on deck. He pulled on a shirt and climbed up, to see Captain Blackchurch, Howlett, and a man he thought might be the captain's first officer Maitland, boarding
La Reine des Perles
. Finally, being helped up by her father, was Orlanda. Alexandre straightened his back, puzzled and a little worried. Had something happened to Constance? Had they discovered his plans to sail away that night?

The sun shone on Orlanda's fair hair, illuminating it to white. She pouted, blazing anger in her eyes. “Search his cabin,” she said. “For I am sure you'll find it there.”

“What is happening?” Alexandre asked.

Captain Blackchurch and Howlett exchanged glances. Finally, Blackchurch spoke in a weary tone. “Alexandre, you are accused of the theft of an item of Orlanda's jewelery.”

“It's a golden bird on a chain,” she said. “Do you deny you have it?”

Alexandre was momentarily baffled, then he remembered the necklace she had given him. Heat rushed over him as he realized how much trouble he was in. He couldn't speak, and Howlett took his silence for guilt.

“You were in my daughter's room, were you? Amongst her things?” Howlett jabbed him with a finger. “After all I've done for you.”

Done for him?
Alexandre didn't point out that Howlett had done nothing for him, that Captain Blackchurch's kindness and generosity were things to be treasured but that Howlett had treated him at best off-handedly, at worst, contemptuously.

He found his voice. “I don't deny that I have the item; you will find it hanging on a nail in my cabin,” he said. “But I did not steal it. Orlanda gave it to me willingly, despite my protests.”

“Lies!” Orlanda cried.

Alexandre had always thought her pretty, but today he saw that she was not. She had a nasty little face, rather like a parrot.

“It is not a lie,” he said.

“Go ahead and search,” Blackchurch said to Maitland, who disappeared below.

Howlett scowled at Alexandre. “Why would Orlanda give
you
such an item of value willingly?”

“Ask her yourself. For my part, she declared love for me just yesterday morning.”

“More lies!” Orlanda shrieked.

“Nonsense!” Howlett cried. “I have raised my daughter well enough, lad, that she knows the difference between a good man and a bad one.”

Maitland emerged, holding the glistening chain in one hand. He offered it to Orlanda, eyes soft with barely disguised adoration. “I found it, Miss Howlett.”

She snatched it from his fingers.

Howlett turned to the captain. “Blackchurch?”

Captain Blackchurch pondered a moment. A gull swooped overhead, cawing.

How Alexandre wished he could grow wings and fly away with her.

“Alexandre, this is a grave thing you are accused of. Have you any proof that you didn't steal the necklace?”

“I have no proof, sir, only my word.”

“I'm sorry, then, lad. Pack your things, we'll take you ashore. Maitland, you stay here and mind the pearler.”

“I'll have you in prison for this,” Orlanda said triumphantly.

“Nobody's going to prison,” Blackchurch said harshly, making Orlanda jump. “You have your necklace returned to you. Alexandre has lost his place in my crew. That evens the situation.”

Alexandre swallowed his rage, as years of practice had taught him to. As he gathered together his few possessions, it wasn't his own predicament he was thinking of, but Constance's. How would she get to Ranumaran without him?

Constance sat on the beach. It was already past midnight, but she kept herself from examining that fact too closely. He would be here, of course he would. Why, he was probably right at this moment on the water in his little rowboat, having overslept. Or had gone back to get something.

She yawned, lying back on the sand. The rushlight she had brought with her glowed eerily in the dark. The moon was behind clouds tonight. Alexandre would be disappointed. He had been relying on moonlight to help them find their way. Still, the cloud might move on. She cheered herself. If Alexandre ever got here. He really was very late.

Time passed. The clouds parted, moved, reformed. The sea beat on, marking the minutes. Constance sat up, straining her eyes to see any sign of Alexandre. What was she to do? If she went home, and he came late . . . But she couldn't wait here all night. She grew anxious. What if he was hurt? Sick? The Howletts had a boat. Should she find it, row out to
La Reine des Perles
? She wasn't a bad rower; her father had taught her on the river when she was little, and her size made her strong.

But what if Alexandre was constrained for some other reason? Perhaps Father had discovered their plan somehow and was lying in wait on the pearler to prove his suspicions?

Constance rose and began to pace. Indecision twisted her up.
Something
had happened, of that she was sure. Alexandre would not idly break his word. But she had no idea what that
something
was, and it made her angry not to know.

Finally, when she was certain that it must have been at least three in the morning, she decided to go home. Her disappointment was keen. She had hoped by now to be well on the way to the hidden temple of Ranumaran, to finding her mother; an adventure to be shared with Alexandre.

Alexandre. What if he had simply changed his mind? What if he had decided he didn't love her, that she wasn't worth the trouble? The ground dissolved beneath her; her heart ached. If only she didn't love him so hard. . . .

Back in her room, she placed the rushlight in the window and went to bed. Still, in hope, dressed. Sleep caught her, morning came, and Alexandre didn't.