by Lee Rowan
“Soon,” Marshall said. “When this wind drops.”
Davy glanced up at the crackling sail and sighed. “I’ll bring it up for you, then. This feels as though it’ll blow all night.”
Marshall nodded absently, his mind on the ship. Night was coming on fast, and Davy was right about the weather. The sensible thing to do would be to find a sheltered cove, furl the sails, and stay put until he could see where they were going. He would have to go below, after all, to have a look at the chart.
He called Barrow over to give him the helm, and was surprised to find his gloves frozen fast to the wheel, held in place by a thin coating of ice. It broke easily enough, but he had no feeling in his fingertips.
“I’m going below to see if I can find a place for us to put in for the night. Call the men down and send them below a few at a time to warm themselves. I don’t want any broken legs or broken heads. We’ve no hands to spare and no doctor aboard.”
“Aye, sir, thankee.”
Marshall went below, relieved to be out of the biting wind. As he reached for the latch of the cabin door, it swung inward to reveal Davy, with his right hand on the door and two tin mugs in his left.
“Come in, Captain! You look quite thoroughly chilled—but I am amazed you changed your mind.” He held the door open just long enough for Will to enter, then closed it against the draft.
“I d-did not.”
The warmth of the cabin started him shivering. Davy set the mugs down on the folding table by the window and unbuttoned Will’s ice-coated coat, replacing it with a blanket and a warm embrace.
“I only came in to look at the chart,” Marshall protested.
“And so you shall, when you’ve thawed.”
He wasn’t about to argue. Davy’s body made him think of tropical sands; being in his arms like this was the warmest he’d been all day. When the shivering stopped, he stepped back reluctantly.
“There’s no point trying to sail in this muck, not so close to shore,” he said. “We’ll spend the night at anchor and hope the weather clears tomorrow.”
Davy handed him his tea. “Good. Drink this, I’ll get out the chart.”
Will wrapped his cold hands gratefully around the cup, letting the heat seep in and restore sensation. He watched over Davy’s shoulder as he unrolled the chart and ran a finger along the coastline. “We should be near our rendezvous already, I think—ah, here it is. Not far.”
“Yes… I thought it would be best if we were to arrive the same day he’s due to signal, but with this weather, I believe it’s better to put in a day early. There’s not much of a town there, from what Sir Percy said in our orders—we’d have no good reason to hang about.” He pointed to a curve in the coastline some miles away from the village. “This should serve. We can be there by dark, and that spit of land will block the worst of the wind.”
Standing close, Davy leaned against him, the curve of his arse brushing against Marshall’s thigh. “Do you think the wind will be noisy enough to give us some privacy?”
Marshall’s body arched toward his lover with a will of its own and his heart wanted to follow, but he caught himself. “No, I’m afraid not. In this dirty weather, I think one of us should be on deck, or at least awake, as much of the time as possible.”
“I wasn’t talking about sleeping, Will.”
“I know, but you’re the one who said we’d need to be on best behavior.”
Davy nodded reluctantly. Letting his head drop back against Will’s shoulder, he said, “Yes, I did. But I didn’t expect you’d set the bar so high.”
“I’m in command now, Davy. I can’t—it doesn’t seem right—to do things I might have chanced as a lieutenant. If one of the men were to come in….”
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Davy’s eyes close and his lips tighten. “I see. You’re right, of course.”
Marshall leaned down and gave him a small but lingering kiss. “Soon. I promise.”
“Of course.” His face composed and unreadable, Davy stepped back from the table. “I’ll go above for a bit, while you work out the navigation.” He lifted his greatcoat from the hook by the door and settled his hat upon his head. “Shall I tell the cook to hold our supper until just after sunset, then?”
“That would be good, yes. Davy, I’m—”
“Not at all, Will, you’re absolutely right. With any luck, we’ll be taking Dr. Colbert directly back to England, so perhaps we can manage a night ashore once we’re there, and if not….” He shrugged and left the cabin before Will could think of anything to say.
Davy wasn’t being fair. No, that was a lie. He wasn’t being fair to Davy. They’d had only that one night together. They were still in port the night after their reunion, but since the Mermaid needed to go out with the tide and that meant leaving before dawn, they had simply slept aboard, in hammocks a little more comfortable than Navy-issue, but separate nonetheless. Will wished now that they’d kept their room at the inn, but as Captain, it was his duty to put the mission first, no matter what his personal desires might be. They had completed their mission, the first mission of his new command, successfully and in good time. That ought to count for something.
And he’s the one who arranged all this! He’s no fool—he must have known it wasn’t going to be a pleasure cruise!
But far from justifying his self-righteous attitude, Will’s memory threw back the times he had been willing to take chances—dangerous, foolish chances—in situations far more uncertain than this. And he did not even want to think about the chances Davy had taken for him, because that would be a reminder of the time their luck had failed. Not to mention the danger that lay in wait as soon as France and England resumed hostilities.
Marshall wasn’t used to fear—not for himself, at any rate. He went into every battle knowing he might die, hoping that if he did it would be quick. But this new fear came close to swamping him if he looked at it too closely. It was damaging him as an officer and even as a lover. He was becoming afraid to take chances.
Do you really believe that if you don’t touch him, fate will somehow keep him safe?
He had no answer. Perhaps there was no answer. With their lives always dependent on the whim of wind and water, it was no wonder sailors were known as a superstitious lot. Marshall had always thought of himself as a man of logic, an officer above superstition, but he wondered if he had developed a delusion all his own.
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 away 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 one on either end of the vessel, as the Mermaid had, to prevent collisions.
Their signal was supposed to be a light in a window of a particular house, shown any time between eleven at night 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 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 them. 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 4
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 gray 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 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 love of the theater had shown itself in his thorough enjoyment at creating David St. John, erstwhile Canadian trader. “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.”
