Eye of the Storm (11 page)

“Very likely.  And—he was helping us escape, Davy.  He refused to denounce us to the state police.  That is worth some consideration, surely.”

Choosing not to borrow trouble, Archer rolled his eyes and called for Korthals and Spencer to go assist Captain Marshall. “Some papers” turned out to be two stout chests full of books and other material that Beauchene apparently could not live without. His mother, in contrast, was already standing by the front door with a small case, her maid, and a covered basket that emitted the occasional muffled yip.

“Madame, I am impressed with your efficiency,” Archer said.

She regarded him from under the hood of her cloak, with an expression that was almost a smile. “Young man, I have reached an age where I know what is truly important.”

He felt as though he had stumbled into a fairy tale, where the magical old woman was about to impart some precious secret. “And that is?”

“The only things of any value are those creatures whom you love, who love you in return. All else can be replaced.”

He caught his breath at the strangely appropriate remark, then bowed to kiss her hand. “Thank you, Madame. I have found that to be true.”

“Then you have learned it younger than most. Some never do. Shall we go, monsieur?”

The scramble down to the cove was not something that Archer would have wanted to try again, not with civilians in his care. Dr. Colbert attended Madame Beauchene with the greatest attention, Will kept her nearsighted son from breaking his neck on the steep slope, and the maid Yvette was handed over to the tender care of the Owen twins. The rest of the Mermaids were stuck hauling those damned trunks.

The Owens sloshed knee-deep into the icy water, bringing the skiff close enough for Madame Beauchene, Dr. Colbert, and her maid to step into from a rocky outcrop. Klingler volunteered to pilot that boat; he said he’d run a skiff as a boy that was its spitting image. Four passengers—and one small dog—was about the limit of its capacity.

The rest of them squeezed into the
Mermaid
’s boat. Beauchene was not a bulky man, so the boat’s trim was easily balanced; he was agreeable to being squeezed in between Will and Archer. But his dunnage… Archer was not entirely happy about those trunks. Besides being heavy and awkward, their contents might cause French Intelligence to be extremely upset when they learned that Monsieur Beauchene had taken so much of his work with him. That known theft might transform this little escapade from a family rescue to an international incident.

On the other hand, if it was significant information, Sir Percy would be pleased. And if they could somehow arrange a safe return for their ‘hostage,’ research and all, that would be even better. Beauchene’s status and his trunks were a problem for another day, and a matter for the diplomats. For now he had Will back, that was the important thing.

Except…he wouldn’t have Will back, would he? Not for a day or two, at least, until they could rendezvous with Sir Percy. They would have to give their cabin to Madame Beauchene and her maid… and where the devil were they going to put two more passengers? For that matter, where were they going to put themselves?

That, obviously, was a matter for the
Mermaid’s
captain to decide.

“I see how it is that you love him.”

Marshall glanced up from his log entry to see that Etienne had come into the Captain’s cabin without a sound. Davy was on the deck of Sir Percy’s yacht, and most of the
Mermaid’s
crew was busy transferring Etienne’s dunnage and the other passengers.

They were alone for the first time since Marshall had returned to the schooner; it had been crowded as Noah’s Ark, and they’d wound up sleeping in hammocks slung above their provisions, in company with all the off-duty crewmen.

“I’m glad you do,” Marshall said, warmed by his generosity. “I do not believe I could live without him.”

“He could be another Bonaparte. That rescue…
formidable.
He has such courage—he would walk through fire for you. If I did not love you so much I would be jealous. But how do you keep away the fear?”

Marshall winced. Fear had been a constant companion; every night brought some variation of the Kingston nightmare. “Thank God he hasn’t the ambition to be a Bonaparte. He’s far too reasonable. As to the danger, the fear…” He sighed. “I wish I knew how to keep it away. I wish I could. Every day…”

Etienne closed the distance between them. “If you ever find you must live without him—and he is a beautiful man, I wish him long life—please think of me.” He stooped to place a quick, gentle kiss on Will’s lips—the sort one might give a brother, or a friend. “I shall go now. Please, stay here, or I should find it too difficult to leave.”

Marshall took his hand. “Etienne. If a sailor’s blessing has any power… I hope you find your heart’s desire.” Overcoming his shyness, he dropped a kiss upon the Frenchman’s hand.

“I, too.” Etienne smiled. “But not at the cost of another’s life.
Adieu, mon cher.”

The door closed quietly behind him.

Chapter Eleven

For the first time in longer than he could remember, William Marshall looked forward to Christmas with high anticipation. He had his own ship, the salary of a Commander in His Majesty’s Navy, and he had even, out of the
Mermaid’s
operating budget, been able to allocate a few pounds for a Christmas treat for his crew. It wouldn’t be much, but roast goose, plum pudding, and fresh vegetables were rare enough aboard ship, even in this season.

The feast would be a complete surprise to everyone but Barrow; his bosun had arranged to pick up the food when they passed Lands’ End on their way back across the Channel. Davy had even chipped in for a bag of rare, imported oranges, one for each man. The December chill was working in their favor, as far as provisions were concerned—cold enough to keep the food from spoiling but warm enough that the oranges wouldn’t freeze.

Davy… His presence on the
Mermaid
was both a joy and a continual source of anxiety for its captain. Marshall didn’t know what would become of Davy when the Peace was broken. He didn’t want to lose him from the crew, but—

“A moment, Captain?” The object of his musings appeared at his elbow.

“What is it, Mr. St. John?” He would be glad when they could dispense with this nonsense. The crew members who knew his real identity were trustworthy, and Sir Percy had said the St. John identity would be retired at the end of the year. That was fine with Marshall; he’d thought it a silly complication from the start.

“If you could come below, sir?” Davy asked blandly.

Marshall frowned. “Can it wait until the change of watch?”

His lover raised an eyebrow. “Captain Marshall, do you intend to rest at the end of this watch?”

He sighed. “Um...”

“My point precisely. Will, you can’t avoid me indefinitely, this vessel’s not big enough. I don’t understand what it is that’s bothering you. Was it something I said?”

“Of course not.”

“What have I done, then?”

“Nothing!”

“All right.” Davy’s blue eyes were inscrutable as the sea. “There’s nothing wrong, I’ve given no offense, but you haven’t been coming into the cabin until long after I’m asleep, and you’re up and gone before I wake. What am I to think?”

Marshall glanced around anxiously.

“There’s no one in earshot, Will, you can trust me for that!”

He didn’t know what to say. “I’ve had things on my mind…” Which was an understatement. All his resolution had deserted him after their escape; every time he had meant to approach Davy with a view to making love, he had been distracted by one thing or another, or one of the crew required his attention. Was he losing his nerve?

“Come below. Please?”

He sighed again. “Very well.” He called to Barrow, gave him the helm, and followed Davy below to their shared cabin.

He was half-expecting to be pounced upon, was actually hoping for it; instead, Davy slipped the door-latch shut and faced him, his eyes troubled. “Will, what is wrong?”

“There’s nothing wrong.”

“I see.” He ran a hand through his short, thick cap of hair. “No, I don’t see. It’s been over a month since you’ve shown any interest in what used to be a favorite activity; I thought there must be a reason. If I’ve done nothing, and nothing else is wrong...” He bit his lip, an old nervous habit that told Marshall the airy tone was a sham, and went on, “Shall I assume you’ve just lost interest? Should I—” He turned away, tugging at the line that held his cot suspended on his side of the tiny cabin they shared. “Would you prefer that I leave the
Mermaid
when we return to Portsmouth?”

The question struck Marshall like a blow. “What? No! Of course not!”

“Then, for God’s sake, Will,
talk
to me!” His voice was low, but all the more intense for that. “I received news in the last mail-packet, when we turned the French delegation over to Sir Percy. Good news, I thought, but until I know your mind on this I’m no longer certain.”

“What news?”

Davy shook his head. “Not until you tell me this:  is it your wish that I stay with you when you return to regular duty in the Navy?”

He opened his mouth to say “Of course,” and a hammer-blow of memory stopped him, the horror of seeing Davy carried belowdecks with a spreading red stain on his white waistcoat, the week of dread as they sailed back to Kingston, and the double loss—first when he thought Davy had died, and then again after he’d healed, but duty took Marshall back to sea alone.

“How do you keep away the fear?”

Will had always been aware of his own mortality, but the constant expectation of his own death had allowed him to appear fearless. This, though, the razor-sharp knowledge that Davy might die, somehow that was even more frightening. Dying, especially a quick death, held little terror compared to the pain of going on alone.

Davy’s question had no simple answer. And even though Marshall was captain of the
Mermaid
, that was one decision he had no right to make unilaterally. He hated the thought of having to choose. “Do you want to stay?”

In answer, Davy put a hand on either side of his face and pulled him into a kiss. Marshall was so cold from his long day on deck that his body was drawn to the warmth as much as anything. The closeness, the taste of Davy’s mouth, woke a longing that he thought he had mastered, and he took his lover into his arms. A month! Had it really been that long?

When they stopped for breath, Davy said, “In case you didn’t understand, that was ‘yes.’” He extricated himself from the embrace, dropped into a careless slouch on the storage locker that served as a bench along the stern. It was a wanton slouch; it was a posture that said,
Come alongside, I’m prepared to be boarded.
“But only if I’m wanted.”

Marshall sat beside him, telling himself that they had to sit close so they could speak without being overheard. “How can you doubt that?”

Davy wasn’t giving an inch. “How can I not? You haven’t touched me since we last discussed the matter. For all I know, you’ve taken it upon yourself to feel guilty that I was shot back in the Indies—”

The accusation was so dead-on that Marshall looked away.

“—and decided to punish yourself with a vow of celibacy.”

“Davy, I—”

“And it never occurred to you,” Davy continued, somewhat plaintively, “that you were also punishing
me.”
He grimaced comically, in contrast to his tone.

“Davy, I never intended any such thing! It’s not— I only—” He ran out of protests and stopped to collect himself. Davy said nothing, merely waited. “I had not realized what a weight command would be. I am concerned about setting a good example for the crew. It seems difficult to find a time to be private.” Even in his own ears, the excuses sounded hollow.

“Now you’re prevaricating, Captain Marshall. Since we occupy the same cabin, opportunity seems to me to be the least of our difficulties.” Davy took Will’s hand, chafing life back into his half-numb fingers. “I have begun to wonder if I’ve somehow overstayed my welcome in your life. Etienne Beauchene…is a very attractive man. He wants you— I think he may even love you. And if I had died in Kingston, you’d be free.”

Something wrenched in Will’s chest. “No! Please, don’t say such things.” The very thought was like a knife in his heart. “Yes, Etienne is a good man…and if I did not love you, if I’d never known you, I might find him attractive. But— Davy, if you had died, I’d be as near dead myself as makes no difference. I lived for duty, from the time I left you in Jamaica. I think death would have been easier.”

“And I can tell you from some experience that you’re right. So tell me, please—” His fingers closed around Marshall’s, holding tight. “Why do you push me away?”

“I want you safe!” Marshall blurted out, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

“Oh, Will.” Davy shook his head, smiling. “There is no safety outside the grave. At sea, at war... I could be shot, or run through, or blown up, or drowned.”

“Exactly.”

“But ashore, I could catch my death of cold, be run down by a horse, murdered by thieves, struck by lightning—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!”

“No, honestly. I lost an uncle to a lightning strike. Kit’s father was walking across his own lawn, and—”

“Damn it, I don’t care if he was eaten by a tiger on London Bridge. Your chances of survival are better ashore.”

“And so are yours! What would you have me do, Will, wall myself up in a monastery?” He leaned in for another kiss, a mere brushing of lips. “I don’t think I could adapt to such a life. I would only corrupt the monks and be hanged for my pains.”

Marshall was riven. Part of him was thrilled to know that his lover wanted to stay. Part of him wished that were not the case, and felt ashamed for wanting Davy at his side despite the danger. “Is there nothing I can say to make you reconsider?”

Davy shook his head. “No. Well, actually, yes. Look at me—” He touched Marshall’s cheek, turned his face slightly so their eyes met. “
Look
at me, Will, and tell me you no longer care for me. If you can tell me that, and mean it, I’ll remove myself as fast as ever I can.” One corner of his mouth quirked up. “But I will know if you’re lying.”

It would only take a few words, and Davy would be safe. But with his eyes held by that merciless blue gaze, Will could not utter them. After a long, wordless moment, Will gave up. He pushed himself to his feet, pacing the three steps that were all the tiny cabin allowed. “I lost you twice in Kingston. I think once more would kill me.”

“You have a risky job, Captain. That scraper you’ll be wearing will make you a much better target than I. There’s just as good a chance I could see you killed in action.”

“Yes, but I—” Marshall turned, smiling ruefully at what he was about to say. “I wouldn’t have to live through that. Ah, Davy... I never used to understand the notion of having a hostage to fortune. Now I do. And I hate it.”

Davy looked up at him. “Is loneliness any better? Sooner or later, yes, one of us will die. It could be today, or next month, or fifty years from now, in peaceful sleep or the heat of battle. There’s no way of knowing.” He stood, blocking Marshall’s restless wandering. “Would you forsake joy because there will someday be pain? Right now, at this moment, England is at peace and we are together. Why waste the time we have?”

He could not argue the sense of that, and Davy’s face was so close... He bent his head; Davy flowed into his arms. After a time Marshall sighed and decided on a strategic retreat from a battle he could not possibly win. “You said that you had news. What is it?”

“Oh, that.” With a smile, Davy patted his pocket. “Remember when we discussed the possibilities for my future career? I had in mind to become a ship’s master under your command.”

“It would be a waste of your training,” Will said. “You’ll be a lieutenant again, Davy, once the Peace breaks. Higher rank, with chance for advancement.”

“True, but if I were to advance from that rank I’d be forced to take on a ship of my own, and we’d be apart until you became an Admiral. I’ve never seen the barky I’d take in trade for you. But look!” He produced a folded parchment with a flourish.

Though its seal had been broken, Marshall recognized it as an official document from the Admiralty. He sat on the bench to examine it more closely, recognizing what exactly it contained. “This certifies your qualification as a ship’s master?”

Davy grinned, sitting close beside him. “Don’t look so bottle-headed! Everyone knows what Boney’s up to, and where’s the harm in assuring there are qualified navigators to spare?”

“How did you manage this?” Will asked. “Without my knowing?”

“Kit, of course. It was no great trick for Baron Guilford to ask a favor and get his upstart cousin certified as a warrant officer. Particularly since Sir Percy and Captain Smith were ready to assure the Admiralty that I actually
was
qualified. Percy’s only seconding what Sir Paul says, of course, but after what he and Mr. Drinkwater put me through before my Lieutenant’s examination, I deserve it! Or should I say the three of you deserve it?”

“I think we all do.” Navigational mathematics had not been Davy’s strong suit, but between Marshall’s tutoring, Drinkwater’s patience, and Captain Smith’s quizzes, he had finally learned what he needed to know. And Will had some fond memories of ‘tutoring’ Davy in the small hours, in quiet spots aboard the
Calypso
.

“So then, Captain Marshall, allow me to apply for the post of Ship’s Master when you finally get your official command.”

“That’s ‘if,’ Mr. St. John,” Marshall corrected.

“If and when, and I’ll bet you a shilling it’s before Midsummer Day.”

“Done. I can always use the money.”

They shook hands with mock-solemnity, and Davy let his breath out in a tremendous whoosh. “Will. On the subject of danger, sharing of, have we argued the case sufficiently to put it to rest, once and for all?”

It was a fair question, though Will knew that he would never cease worrying. “I think so. As long as fear for your safety does not affect my ability to command.”