Eye of the Storm (4 page)

If so, there was nothing he could do about it right now. The chart fixed in his mind’s eye, he drained his cup and put it back in its rack, then buttoned up his coat and went back above. If they found the cove before nightfall, got the
Mermaid
riding safely at anchor, and the crew set to short rotations to compensate for this bitter weather, perhaps the wind would indeed prove strong enough to hide a little unauthorized activity in the main cabin. He’d make it up to Davy later, if they had the chance.

“Any change in that light?”

“No, sir. But she’s no closer now than she has been. If it’s a boat at all—I’d say not. Hard to be sure, with the fog so thick.”

The lighthouse on the spit of land forming the cove had been visible as a bright, pearly beacon, the only thing visible in the fog. But after they had dropped anchor, one of the men noticed a dim yellow glow in the general direction of the shore. It could have been a light in a house, or a ship’s lantern—though if that were the case, there should have been two, one on either end of the vessel, as there were on the
Mermaid,
to prevent collisions.

Their signal was supposed to be a light in a window of a particular house, shown any time between eleven p.m. and two in the morning, and that house might well lie in that general direction. But with this damnable fog, he could not tell whether the light was in a window or somewhere else. And if it was their signal, it should be waved back and forth every half-hour. On a clear night, such movement would be readily apparent. On a night as shrouded as this, who could say?

Marshall was inclined to believe that the light came from a building of some sort, rather than a vessel. It was near three bells, one-thirty in the morning by shore time, and this was a small, quiet village. Who would be up at this hour? A mother watching over a sick child, an old man restless and unable to sleep? Or a military observer of some sort, with a telescope directed at the unidentified craft lingering a mile or so offshore?

He finally decided there was nothing he could do about it at this hour, not without sending a boat to investigate. That was exactly what he would have done, in wartime—though his own lights would be out, if he’d been sending a party ashore to spy out the land or wreak mayhem. But it would be foolish and uncivilized for a merchant to send his crew skulking about on foreign soil in the dead of night.

Marshall grimaced as he realized that his earlier good intentions toward Davy had completely slipped his mind. The wind was indeed brisk, certainly enough to cloak any small murmurings in the captain’s cabin directly below his feet. But the deck-glass that refracted daylight into the cabin showed no glimmer of lantern-light within.

Davy had been subdued at supper, and had not repeated his earlier invitation. Instead, he had chattered on in his polite, social style, regaling Will with news of the far-flung Archer family, the anticipated entrance of his youngest sister into Society, the next-youngest sister’s difficulty in finding a husband, his eldest brother’s exasperation that, try as they might, he and his wife had not yet managed to produce an heir. It was all trivial stuff to Marshall, though possibly not to Davy, and it had at least protected them against the uncomfortable silence that would result if Will were responsible for making conversation. They expended many words over dinner, but they said nothing.

He should have said something then, when he’d had the chance, but he’d had no idea where to begin. He didn’t have Davy’s gift for words. When they had the schooner safely settled in, he’d decided, he would employ a direct physical approach. That would be much simpler and no doubt equally satisfactory.

And then one of the crew had seen that hovering light in the distance, and personal desires had been set aside for the time being. At last, though, everyone on watch agreed that it had not moved in all the hours they’d watched. Yes, it might have some sinister meaning, but more likely it was simply lit to guide a local home in the dark.

It was time to give up watching and get some sleep. Hoping his lover might be waiting awake in the cabin, Marshall handed the helm off to Spencer, most senior of the men on watch, with instructions to wake him immediately if anything occurred. He went below quietly and opened the door with care.

The faintest glimmer of light filtered through from the lantern hung by the binnacle on the deck above. He could make out the heavy curve of a hammock on Davy’s side of the cabin, the less substantial shape that was his own canvas bed. If he held very still he could hear soft, regular breathing. “Davy?” he whispered. “Are you awake?”

No response. Whatever chance he might have had to make amends, he’d missed it.

He waited a few moments longer, wondering whether he should wake his lover up, then decided against it. His own weariness would certainly dampen his ardor, and Davy deserved better. Yawning, he peeled off his outer garments and realized that the illusion of warmth in here was only in contrast to the bitter cold above; he wasted no time in wrapping himself in his blankets and pulling them up over his head. Tomorrow. Somehow, tomorrow, he’d have to find time to ease this awkward restraint between himself and his lover. He wanted their friendship back again, the easy comfort of being together even when privacy was impossible.

He wished he knew what had gone wrong, and what he needed to do to make it right.

Chapter Four

The fog lifted at daybreak, and sunlight began to melt the frost off the
Mermaid’s
railings. The light that had been so perplexing and ominous in the mist proved to be a lamp mounted beside the door of a handsome stone home built on a rise a little way beyond the smaller buildings that clustered along the beach. In a village as small as this, it might be the only light available on a dark night.

And in fact… As Marshall squinted through the glass, he realized that the grey stone and mansard roof, with one central cupola directly behind the church tower, seemed to fit the description they’d been given in their last set of instructions. “Mr. St. John,” he said, handing the glass to Davy, who stood at his elbow, “does that building behind the church steeple look familiar to you?”

Davy squinted through the glass, then nodded. “I can fetch the description, but if memory serves I would say it’s the home of Dr. Colbert’s local contact. Though I suppose he’s not a contact in the military sense of the word—call him a scientific acquaintance, if you like.”

“That’s something accomplished, then. We know where to look for our signal.” It was a pity that Monsieur—what was his name, Beaumont, Beauville—? Beauchene, that was it—was not actually an English agent. If he had been, they could leave a message that they were in the vicinity and ready to rendezvous with the doctor. As it was, Beauchene was merely a scholar of Dr. Colbert’s acquaintance, confined to his home by some sort of physical infirmity, and Colbert’s visit was going to be unannounced.

“It’s too bad we can’t just send a message along and ask whether they’ve seen him,” Davy said aloud. “I hope our intelligence is current, and Beauchene is still in residence.”

“Indeed. But now that the fog is gone, we’d best be away. Do you fancy a run down the coast to meet one of those gentlemen on your list of potential customers?”

“Better than dropping anchor and waiting for a Frenchman to sail by and inspect our papers,” Davy said. “I’d like to see if I can find anyone willing to exchange a few garnets for amethysts. We might show no profit, but that would add a little variety to my stock and prove that we really are trading.”

“I’ve no doubt you’ll have be able to open a shop in earnest by the time we’re done,” Will said.

“I’ve precious little else to do, Will.” Davy handed back the spyglass. “Do you ever wonder what we will do when the war ends? I have no idea.”

Will tucked the instrument into his pocket. “The Navy will still exist, even if it’s smaller. When the war with France is over, there will still be Barbary pirates, slavers, and His Majesty’s interests to look after in South America and the Pacific.”

“Then you mean to continue in the Navy?”

“Of course, if I can. You’ve said it yourself—when the peace breaks, Sir Percy’s interest may help me get a ship—or perhaps keep this one, though she’d need to be better armed. And it’s only one step from Commander to Post Captain.”

Davy smiled, though Marshall thought he seemed troubled. “So you’re beginning to believe what I’ve been telling you about your chances for command?”

Marshall shrugged. “I don’t have your confidence, but your hope is contagious. When Bonaparte comes—and he is bound to come—it’s the Navy that must stop him. The man’s a genius at warfare on land, but he’s no match for Nelson or Collingwood. If he were as good at sea as he is on land—and I mean no offense to our own Army—I should fear for England’s survival.”

“Thank heaven for small favors, then.”

“Yes. It’s good to realize that Boney’s not quite as infallible as he believes himself to be.” He turned away for a moment, to where Barrow stood at the wheel, and gave orders to get the
Mermaid’s
anchor up and get her under way. It would not do to linger.

Davy gazed out across the water at the village shrinking in the distance, his expression thoughtful. “Neither was Julius Caesar infallible, nor Alexander. They never are, but they always believe themselves to be. What must it be like, Will, to be consumed by such ambition? To believe that one has the wisdom to rule the world?”

“What a mind you have!” Marshall said. “But I can’t imagine such self-importance. I should be content to rule one ship and do it well. I believe that such men think less of the wisdom to rule, and more of the power.”

Davy shook his head. “I can think of only one reason to wish for such power,” he said, “and that would be to be able to wipe out any law that makes love a crime.”

Will nearly said, “And cheat the mob of the pillory and the gallows?” but caught himself. “My father once said that if he ever saw people honor Christ’s word except in the breach, he’d faint from shock. ‘Judge not’ seems to be even more difficult to follow than ‘love one another.’”

“Hate’s easier, I suppose.” Davy sighed. “I’m sorry—” he began at the same moment Marshall said the same thing, then he persisted, “I’m sorry I’ve been so cross these past few days. Having so little to do leaves me too much time to fret over small things.”

They were standing at the windward rail atop the little raised section at the stern that passed for a quarterdeck, and by naval custom the crew was giving its captain such privacy as was available. They were out of earshot, if they spoke quietly, and as the
Mermaid
cleared the spit of land that formed the harbor where they’d sheltered, a steady wind blurred sound even more. “I’m sorry, as well,” Marshall said “I’ve been too preoccupied—”

“With the ship, and the mission. As you must be.”

“Still—”

“No, it’s true, Will. This is not a pleasure cruise. It’s not disagreeable, but we have a job to do. At least, you have a job. My role is intermittent—standing watch occasionally and playing with shiny stones when we have guests.”

“Would you rather stand a regular watch?” Marshall offered. “As owner, you have the choice, and the ability, too. Mr. St. John served as navigator for Sir Percy, did he not?”

“Yes, until he was shot by pirates.” Davy’s current disguise had been constructed late the previous spring, after his brush with death in the West Indies; intelligence sleight-of-hand had transformed him into David St. John, erstwhile Canadian trader
,
to allow the traitor who’d shot him to think that his identity was still secret. “If I stand watch above when you’re off-duty, you would have a little time to yourself in the cabin.”

As Davy said that, his face lost some of its animation and shifted into what Marshall thought of as his quarterdeck face, bland and formal. He was drawing back, and Marshall had no idea why. “That was not what I intended,” he said quickly, making a conscious effort to keep his voice low. “I am just as happy when we’re in the cabin together as not. Happier.”

“Yes, well…there’s such a thing as avoiding temptation.” Davy met his eyes and looked away quickly. “Besides, you are the captain. What sense would it make for us to trade watches if we were both on deck or below, at the same time? He lowered his voice to barely more than a whisper. “Will, if we’ve got to be on our best behavior at all times, that might be easier if we were sleeping on different watches.”

Marshall tried to find a reply to that, but he felt as though the tangle of emotion kept him from thinking clearly, and the wind whipping at his face whirled his thoughts away. “Is that what you want?” he finally asked.

“What does that—” Davy took a deep breath and closed up completely; even his voice gave nothing away. “I think it’s a reasonable thing to do, given what you said yesterday. I understand what you said, and I agree that you very likely have the right of it. All I mean to suggest is that under the circumstances, a bit of solitude—what little one has, on a ship—might be beneficial.”

“I did not mean that we should avoid one another,” Marshall said carefully.

“How could we? We’re on a
yacht,
for pity’s sake. We couldn’t avoid one another unless one of us jumped overboard!”

Marshall ran out of words. From the expression on his lover’s face, Davy was just as nonplussed. Why were they quarreling, and just a few minutes after they’d apologized for being cross with one another?

“Well, I mean to go below now and have a look at the charts,” Marshall said. “There was no signal from the chateau last night. I’d swear to that and so would Barrow, and everyone else who was on deck. Coming by every night would soon attract attention, so we shall sail with the wind today and beat back tomorrow afternoon, taking our time so that we arrive after dark. We rendezvous with Sir Percy two days later, to deliver Dr. Colbert if we have him and decide what to do if we don’t. You’re welcome to join me below, if you like. I am not that fond of my solitude.”

Davy looked as though he was about to decline, then nodded. “Thank you, I will. My blood must have thinned during those months in the Indies. This wind has me chilled to the bone.”

“Then I’ll recommend the remedy you offered me last night. Tea, good and hot.”

And an embrace, at least, Marshall decided. He’d ask Clement, his steward, to bring tea and biscuits, which would give them a few moments alone together. That would not be long enough for much more than a kiss or two, but he truly must reassure Davy that the need for discretion did not indicate a lack of desire.

They had no signal from Dr. Colbert the following night, even though at least three pair of eyes were trained on the chateau between the hours of ten and three. By four a.m. they were on their way once more, to rendezvous with Sir Percy on the other side of the Channel near St. Catherine’s Point. Marshall was reluctant to deliver his first negative report thus far, but found his employer not only unperturbed, but unsurprised. Word had preceded them, from an agent in Paris, that the doctor had completed his personal business and was on his way to the coast.

“The unfortunate thing is,” Sir Percy said, “The good doctor left the city several days later than he originally intended. We’d expected him to come along the coast, but he’s gone overland. I’m sure he has his reasons—and I wish I knew what they are.”

“And what if he never appears?” Davy asked bluntly. “How long are we to wait before taking action?”

“It shouldn’t come to that. If we don’t see you in ten days at the most, I’ll be in touch. We’ve already sent out inquiries to other sources, so perhaps we can glean something of interest.”

That was not much of an answer, all things considered. This was no stranger they were discussing. Marshall and Davy owed a great deal to Kit, and they were both fond of his wife, Zoe, as well as her father. There was no question of abandoning Dr. Colbert in dangerous territory, but it was a hundred miles from Paris to the shore. Anything could happen on such a long journey, and the risks were higher for an older man traveling alone.

Given the delay in the doctor’s schedule, they might have had time to spend a day in port, but Sir Percy had brought them fresh provisions along with a few pieces of mail, so there was no sound reason to delay. With a slightly frustrated Marshall at the helm, the
Mermaid
came about and headed back across the channel.

Four days went by, with as many night-time runs in to shore, and nothing to show for any of them. The first week of December slipped uneventfully into the second with a night of rain that left bare skin wet and numb. The crew said nothing, but they were growing restive, and so was David Archer.

He had an uneasy feeling about this mission. Yes, they had a plausible explanation to offer for their presence; Sir Percy had decided there was no harm in a modest amount of the truth. Archer had even rehearsed the tale he’d give the French captain, if and when they might encounter one.  He’d rehearsed it so many times that if he were an actor he’d be afraid the role had gone stale. The story was simple: he’d received a letter from his cousin, Baron Guilford, saying that his father-in-law wanted to be met at a small village on the coast and there was simply no way to contact him to say that it would be inconvenient and not a very good idea. The old man was harmless, a bit of an eccentric, and the Baron wanted Grandpére brought safely home to the children. After the favors St. John had received from Baron Guilford, he wasn’t going to disoblige him.

Why did they look for the signal at night? Colbert had decided it would be easier for them to be sure of his presence than in the daytime. They would not send a boat until after sunrise, of course. Indeed, Captain Marshall thought it a foolish plan, and liable to lead to trouble—Will was quite ready to speak his piece on that, and he wouldn’t need any acting ability—but Captain Marshall had only been hired to sail the vessel, and since Mr. St. John was the owner, he had a right to make the decision, didn’t he? After all, Dr. Colbert was a Frenchman by birth and he’d been allowed in right enough, so where was the harm in picking the old fellow up by the seaside?

If Archer hadn’t heard similar foolishness himself, usually from civilians in need of rescue, he’d find it hard to say such a thing with a straight face. But with any luck at all, the covering story would never be needed. When they saw the signal they would swing a lantern with a red glass, send a boat, and meet Dr. Colbert on the beach.

All he had to do was appear. Which he refused to do.

The days passed slowly, running in to shore late and back into the channel before dawn. They were blessed with decent weather, clouds that seldom rained. Every morning, the sun would appear at the very edge of the world, sparkle beautifully on the water, then slide up into the clouds and stay there through most of the short day until it reversed the process in late afternoon.