She began to weep silently, but no tears came. Now, but not until his moment when she knew that he was past the crisis of his illness and that he would recover, did she fully realize all that he had come to mean to her. She felt at peace, and within her there soared a feeling deeper and richer than any she had ever before experienced. This was her man, today and forever, for all time.
Jeremy stirred and opened his eyes. He was in his right mind and he recognized her instantly. "Janine," he whispered softly. "Janine."
Chapter Thirteen
JAMAICAN spring meant rain, and there was a heavy downpour daily, beginning in the mountains and foothills around nine or ten in the morning and continuing until early afternoon. Then the rain clouds drifted down to the Liguanea Plain and to Port Royal beyond, leaving behind a mist of steam over the jungles as the sun blazed mercilessly from a placid porcelain sky. Virtually no roof in the Maroon community was rainproof, and the solid sheets of water that seemed to drain the heavens found their way into almost every corner of every dwelling place. But the ground soaked up the moisture with an insatiable thirst, and within an hour of the passing of the clouds all was dry again. The older residents of the village assured newcomers that these were the "little" rains and that the worst deluges could be expected in October.
But Jeremy Stone, recovered now from his illness, sat near the banks of raging rivers that had been trickling brooks only days before and wished fervently that he would find himself elsewhere by autumn. At the moment, he was forced to admit to himself, his chances of going anywhere were virtually nonexistent. He was grateful to be alive, grateful for the miraculous escape plans that had proved so successful and had resulted in his presence here in the remote fastness of the Jamaican interior. However, as his strength grew he became increasingly impatient to become active again in the world, the outer world.
For all practical purposes he was a prisoner in the Land of the Maroons; no native-built boat was strong enough to sail any great distance, and even the greatest of good luck and fine seamanship—in which he was sadly lacking—could result in nothing more promising than an aimless, drifting voyage across the Caribbean to Hispaniola or some other Spanish or boucanier-held stronghold where he would be either killed or enslaved.
Rising and walking slowly back to the village, he shook his head as if to clear it of the thoughts that plagued him. To remain with the Maroons was to be buried alive, and he had to get away from the place. His sole chance to rehabilitate himself was in Port Royal; the Duchess Caroline was there, and she might help him. Though the prospect of winning her assistance was slim, he was determined to see her—when he could. Of course, thinking back on all that had happened, he was almost positive that her defense of him before the governor general had been motivated by self-interest. Certainly she had wanted to conceal the fact that she had known right from the start that he was not the real Terence Bartlett. He could not imagine why she had permitted his impersonation in the first place, but she offered the only ray of hope.
The big problem at the moment was to find some way to leave the Land of the Maroons. Arnold Rifle-Shoot had told him that he could, not return to Port Royal, that the Maroons had no desire to rouse the ire of Sir Arthur Bartlett by flaunting an escaped criminal whom they had helped. And Arnold had meant what he said: on three separate occasions Jeremy, fed up with his confinement, had taken a packet of food and had started south, in the general direction of the Liguanea Plain and the Bay of Jamaica. Each time a spear-bearing Maroon sentry had appeared out of the jungle fastness and had gently but very firmly forced him to retrace his steps to the village.
Meanwhile it was ironic that Janine Groliere, whom he had promised to protect, should be in an equally untenable position and should be in effect a prisoner too. Her situation was not as bad as his, for her father would someday return to the island, and when he did the Maroons could smuggle her into Port Royal and aboard the Bonnie Maid. Of that he had no doubt, just as he was certain that Philippe Groliere would refuse sanctuary to a man who had failed in his obligations. The captain had made a bargain with him, and Jeremy had accepted a trust as well. He had not only been unable to keep his end of the compact, but stood revealed as a miserable charlatan. Groliere might, with full justification, shoot him on sight.
But he wanted Janine; each of his long, hard debates with himself ended with the grudging admission that she was now more appealing, more attractive to him than ever before. He often thought of marriage to her, wondered what life would hold in store if she were his partner, the mistress of his house, the mother of their brood of growing, healthy children. Yet each time the idea occurred to him, he shrank from it.
And in those moments when he was completely honest with himself, he knew why. Esther Mary Pennywell was still in his mind, Esther Mary with her lithe, ripe figure, her unconventionally alluring face, her strange manner that made her captivating even when she was brusque.
Both of these girls had taken a strong hold on him, both held his interest, captured his imagination, tore at his loyalties. That he was unable to choose between them only increased his frustration, deepened his unhappiness, for in his present circumstances he was in no position to choose. In fact he was convinced that no pretty, intelligent girl who valued her future could or would feel anything stronger than pity for him.
Four or five Maroon men were clearing a patch of hillside jungle for agricultural use, and Jeremy paused to watch them as they moved systematically, rhythmically, first cutting down plants and weeds with the blades of machetes, then digging out roots with the points. He leaned against a banyan tree, and although he appeared to be lazy and at ease, his mind was working furiously as he eyed the weapons. Unless the Maroons relented and permitted him to leave, he would have no choice but to force his way out of their community. He wanted to harm none of these people who had been so kind to him, but a sharp machete might be useful if he had to bluff his way past the sentries who guarded the approaches to the village.
One thought now weighed heavily on his conscience, however, and was responsible so far for his delay in breaking free —what would become of Janine if he left her here? Obviously he could not take her with him and expose her to the dangers in which he would immerse himself in Port Royal, but it would not be easy to abandon her.
He remembered vividly the wide-eyed concern on her tear-streaked face when he had come to himself after the obeah ceremony that had restored him to the land of the living; how heartened he had been by the knowledge that there was someone in the world who cared whether he lived or died. And in the first days of his recovery she had been in constant attendance, feeding him, waiting on him, encouraging him. Now that he was strong enough to look after her as well as himself, it was not going to be easy to walk out on her, particularly when he recalled how much she had risked, how much she had sacrificed, how much she had suffered for his sake.
During his convalescence he had wanted desperately to convince her that his appreciation was boundless. But during those long days when he had been weak and confined to a hamoc in the room that was his home, the back chamber of Arnold Rifle-Shoot's house, the words had not come easily. As he had grown stronger, he had become increasingly uncomfortable in her presence. She had been so patient, so uncomplaining, so selfless, that his sense of shame had taken seed and sprouted as it had been borne in on him that her plight had been caused by his own rash attempt to take another man's rightful place in the world. Irrationally he had come to long for the day when Janine would complain, would lose her temper with him, but when she had continued to be sweet and gentle, he had become all the more nettled.