Winds of Change & Eye of the Storm

by Lee Rowan

  “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, we might find it easier to sleep on separate 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 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 pairs of eyes were trained on the chateau between the hours of ten and three. By 4:00 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 nighttime 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 Grand-père 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 sunup, 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 and 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.

  Captain Marshall took advantage of the time to bring the crew up to scratch. The guns were never discharged; it would have been abysmally stupid to attract the attention of the French navy that way. But he did hold dumb-show drills, running their little guns out and going through all the motions short of firing. It improved their time and gave those who had not worked together before the chance to work in teams. Target practice would have been even better, but these men, all shipmates from Calypso and Valiant, could be trusted to know how to handle a real battle.

  But there was no time for him to be alone with Will. The occasional kiss, an embrace at bedtime if one happened to be in the cabin when the other was going to bed…. It was like being back in the Navy again, only worse. How could one arrange a surreptitious tryst with one’s lover without the Captain’s knowledge, when one’s lover was the Captain, and stricter on himself than he would be toward any of the crew?

  Archer finally decided to behave and think as he had when he and Will had first served together, when he was hopelessly in love with a man who had never even looked at him except in friendship.

  Had it been easier then? Yes, in some ways it had. It was simpler and less painful to long for what one could never have than to miss what one had once cherished. And he did mis
s it. A terrible thing, to miss someone who was standing not two feet away.

  “We need to investigate,” Will said on the tenth of December, as he and Archer were finishing dinner in their cabin. “Unless Dr. Colbert has been taken by the French, he should have arrived by now.”

  “How do you propose to do that?” Archer asked. “This village—and it barely qualifies as that—is far too small for me to pretend to be looking for a jeweler’s shop.”

  “Of course it is.” Will used the last of his soft-tack to scoop his bowl clean of the thick beef soup Clement had concocted in the Mermaid’s tiny galley. “I had two notions in mind,” he said when he’d finished the morsel. “The first was that, since we have no doctor aboard, I might go ashore and ask if there is any medical help at hand—an apothecary, or even a horse doctor.”

  “And the other?”

  Will shrugged. “The truth—the story we have that fits the facts of the matter. I think that would be the simplest and best plan, and you would not be faced with swallowing some nasty concoction for your innards.”

  “I would not be faced with it? Will, you’re the Captain of this vessel. Since Dr. Colbert is my uncle—by marriage, but my relative, nonetheless—I should be the one to go looking for him.”

  The look Will gave him was so fierce, he instinctively leaned back. “No,” Will said. “Absolutely not.”

  Archer could only stare. He knew that his supposed authority over Will was fictitious, but up until now, they had arrived at decisions by mutual consent. He could argue or wait for reason, so he waited.

  Eventually Will said, more rationally, “Davy, I’m in command—it’s my responsibility. And would it not make sense for the ship’s owner to stay aboard and send his hireling ashore?”

  They were heading for another quarrel; Archer could feel it. He counted to ten and then said, “Are you aware that you have just put forth two opposing lines of reason in support of a single argument?

  Will glared at him for a moment; then his face relaxed into a smile. “Well, no. But would you not say that means that no matter what argument you choose, I am correct?”

  “On the contrary. Whether you are in command—and should stay in command, aboard this ship—or I am in command and am the one to decide who should go searching for my own relative, I would say that no matter what argument I choose, you’ll refuse to admit you are mistaken.”

  Will sighed. “Davy, the doctor should have been here days ago, even if he did leave Paris later than we first thought. We have no idea where he is or what has delayed him. There might be some simple reason that he cannot signal—he could be sick, or injured, and unable to get to that window. Or Beauchene might not be there any longer. If I go ashore openly, in broad daylight, ask a few simple questions….”

  “And what if there are no answers? What if Beauchene is there but has not seen the doctor? What then?”

  “Then we would at least know something.”

  “Nothing of any use.” He took Will’s hand across the tabletop, as though some physical connection would keep them from drifting further apart over this disagreement. “Will, I hate waiting too. We can’t continue to run in and out of the harbor indefinitely. I keep expecting a French corvette to appear and take us prisoner, and I don’t fancy being executed as a spy.”

  “We’d have the codebooks over the side in an instant,” Will said. “There’d be no proof of any ill-doing.”

  “Perhaps not. But they could hold us long enough to make the rendezvous impossible, and where would the mission be then? It’s not that I am unconcerned about Dr. Colbert,” he added. “I am afraid he has come to grief already, and I wish he had never gone on this damned errand.”

  “Do you have any alternative to going ashore?”

  “Wait another day,” Archer said, holding tightly. “And hope we see the signal tonight.”

  Will rubbed a thumb across Archer’s knuckles. “Very well. But, Davy, if we see no sign, we must do something soon. Sir Percy never said we should not go ashore.”

  “He never said we should either. And he certainly did not advise it.” But Archer could see no point in pursuing the question any further. A day’s reprieve was less than he’d hoped for, but at least Will wasn’t going ashore this evening.

  If Archer had anything to say about it, Will wouldn’t go ashore at all. It wasn’t that he had a death wish, but between the two of them, from a purely military point of view, William Marshall was of more value to His Majesty’s Navy. And Archer suspected that if he went and did not return, Will would adjust to being alone far better than he would, himself.

  Will had managed well enough in Portsmouth all those months, hadn’t he?

  Chapter 5

  MARSHALL WOKE early on the second morning after he’d promised Davy one more day. He had let the matter ride the day before, hoping that by some miracle they’d see the signal on the second night. But the hours had crept by with no sign, no light, and at the end, no hope.

  He had said nothing more about going ashore. Neither had Davy. It was as though each was reluctant to open the discussion, and the longer it went unsaid, the more difficult it became to say anything. Perhaps Davy thought he’d abandoned the idea, though he should have known better. Marshall had taken evasive action by going off-watch as soon as they were well away from shore; Davy had taken the middle watch and was now sleeping soundly, with nothing visible above the edge of the hammock but a gleam of tousled gold.

  It was harder than he’d expected to summon his resolve and follow the plan he’d made the previous night. Sliding out of his hammock with the utmost care, he dressed quietly and carried his boots outside the cabin door before putting them on.

  Barrow saluted as he came up on deck. “It’s a fair mornin’, sir. No sign of Frenchmen—except on shore, o’course.”

  “Very good.” He gazed off toward the horizon, where the village would appear after they’d sailed a mile or two closer. “I’m going ashore this morning, Barrow. Prepare to lower the boat as soon as we’re close in.”

  “Aye, sir, I’ll ask for volunteers.” He hesitated. “Will we go armed, sir?”

  “The men can take pistols, but they should not need them. They can return with the boat. I will be landing alone. I’ll signal when I mean to return.”

  The man was too good a sailor to question orders, but he’d known Marshall since he was barely old enough to shave and seemed unable to resist a word of protest. “Sir—?”

  It was one word too many. “You heard me, Barrow.” Marshall knew that the ire he unleashed on the man was totally undeserved, and he felt like a complete bastard. “I am going ashore to inquire about Mr. Archer’s uncle, who made an unwise decision about his itinerary. That’s a job for one man, not an armed expedition. I don’t propose to be the fool who breaks the Peace, and I don’t intend to debate the matter with you or anyone else!”

  “Aye, Cap’n.” As Barrow turned and walked over to speak to another crew member, Marshall regretted his behavior. He’d never had much respect for captains who discharged their ill tempers on crewmen who couldn’t answer back, and now here he was doing it himself. So much for his ability to lead and inspire his men.

  He wanted to be away immediately, but there was no way to accomplish that. Instead, he called down the man standing lookout and went up the Mermaid’s mast himself, as high as he could, to have some space to breathe, to scout the horizon.

  The Mermaid wheeled as the crew below made the adjustments to bring her about, and Marshall found himself tilting out over the water. That had made him dizzy when he first went to sea, but in the years since, he had come to enjoy it. This was as close to flight as any earthbound human was likely to come, and it was his ship—his own ship, the culmination of the dream he’d had as far back as he could remember.

  The vast blue emptiness above and below calmed him as it always did, and the absence of enemy ships was reassuring. Yes, Davy was right in saying that they might wind up knowing little more after the visi
t than they knew right now—but if nothing else, he should be able to learn whether or not Dr. Colbert’s friend Beauchene was still in residence at the chateau. If so, they would wait a little longer. If he was not—well, that would mean a fast run back to England for new orders, and the hope that there was some other agent of British Intelligence already on French soil who might be assigned to find Davy’s missing uncle.

  Oh, Lord. Davy.

  He must be told. Marshall couldn’t very well sneak ashore while his lover slept. He was the Captain. That would be a low, cowardly, and dishonorable trick to play on the man who would be left in command of this vessel. He simply could not do that.

  That didn’t keep him from wishing he could.

  He did wait, though, as long as possible. When the houses along the shore began to grow from tiny outlines to visible dwellings, he reluctantly climbed back down to the deck and went below.

  He found Davy awake and dressed, standing with both arms against the frame of the stern window, his back to the door. “Good morning, Captain,” he said without turning.

  “Davy—”

  “I heard the davits creaking,” he said flatly. “They’re getting the boat ready, aren’t they? Were you planning to wake me, or would you have just left a note on the pillow?”

  “Of course I was going to wake you. Why else do you think I’m here?”

  “I could not begin to guess.”

  “Davy—” Marshall set his teeth. “Mr. Archer, would you do me the courtesy of showing your countenance?”

  “Certainly, Captain.” Davy turned, his eyes blazing. With exaggerated courtesy he executed a perfect salute, holding it until Marshall was forced to return it, and then his arm snapped back to his side. “I am, as always, at your service.”