by Jo Goodman
Rhys blamed himself for helping the man he had known as Michael Deveraux to escape from France. He and Robert Dunne had been used to place a traitor on English soil. The Lescauts, genuinely fleeing France for the sake of their lives, had been similarly used, acting as unwitting blinds to keep suspicion away from the traitor in their party.
Rhys shook his head, clearing the recriminations from his thoughts. He did not need to feel any more powerless than he already did. The captain of his ship had already informed him they were less than a day from the Channel. Rhys needed to direct his energies elsewhere. He picked up one of the pistols lying on the desk in front of him and began cleaning it.
“Allons!” Mason demanded impatiently. “Come out of there! Vite!”
Kenna shielded her eyes from the lantern light that blazed at Mason’s side. How dare he order her to hurry! She raised her chin a notch and straightened her shoulders.
Mason’s laugh mocked her. “A pathetic show of defiance, Mrs. Canning. Do you recognize this?” He held up a vial, thrusting it into the light so that she might see it. Her absolute stillness told him that she clearly understood its contents and its purpose. “Good. It would be awkward if I had to use this, but I assure you I will if you do not cooperate of your own accord. Now come here. Bring your valise.”
Kenna stood and walked slowly toward him, picking up the valise. He stepped away from the door and ushered her into the empty passageway. Mason closed the door, put a hand at the small of Kenna’s back and urged her along the corridor. Her legs were weak as she climbed the narrow stairs to the upper deck awkwardly and Mason finally took the valise from her. He stopped her in front of the door to his cabin, opened it, and motioned her inside. Kenna glanced at the cabin’s single porthole as Mason set down the lantern on a trunk. It was dark outside. She wondered what time it was, what day. “Why am I here?” she asked.
Mason pointed to a wooden tub sitting in one corner. “I want you to wash.” He put the valise on the bed and opened it, rifling its contents until he found the clothing he wanted. He laid out clean undergarments, smoothed the wrinkles from Kenna’s gown, and put her kid slippers on the floor. When he turned back to Kenna he saw she hadn’t moved. She was watching him warily. “Undress. Wash yourself.”
“Why?”
Mason ignored her question. He walked toward her, turned her around, and began undoing the fasteners at her back.
Kenna pulled away. “I’ll do it.”
“As you wish.” Mason sat on the bunk.
“May I have some privacy?”
“No. There are some matters we must discuss.”
Fingers trembling, Kenna began to undress, keeping her back to him. The water in the tub was cold but Kenna entered it quickly, hunching her shoulders to keep Mason’s eyes from violating her any more than they already had. She found a sliver of soap and a cloth and began washing.
“Do you know where we are?” he asked.
“No. Near Paris?”
“Near Dunnelly.” He saw her grow still with shock, then resume washing again. “You and I are going ashore in a few hours. I have already arranged the meeting. There will be an exchange—you, for a great deal of money.”
“I see,” she said slowly. It explained the bath. Mason did not want her to look as if she had been mistreated. “If money was your objective all along then why not ask Rhys for it?”
“Your husband is a wealthy man, but not nearly so wealthy as your brother. It is Dunnelly funds I want. You and I will be met in the caves. You’re familiar with the caves, I believe.”
Kenna nodded.
“Bien. I will expect your cooperation. I regret that it will be necessary to bind your wrists. However, you will be able to walk on your own. The entire affair will be accomplished in a few minutes and I will leave. I hope, for your sake, that no one tries to stop me. You would do well to consider that before you take it upon yourself to play the heroine.”
Kenna closed her eyes briefly to hold back the rush of tears. She willed herself not to cry in front of this man. Kenna dipped her head in the water to wet her hair then began to wash it, digging her fingers into her scalp painfully so that she could think of nothing else. When she finished rinsing she rose from the tub and clumsily wrapped herself in a towel. “Nicholas will not give you money.”
Mason shrugged, getting to his feet. “I’ll be back in an hour. Make yourself comfortable.”
“Bastard,” she said under her breath. “Satan’s spawn.”
Mason opened the door to the cabin, laughing shortly. “You are not the first person to call me a devil, Mrs. Canning. But in your situation one should practice more discretion. It would not cause me the slightest inconvenience to break your nose a second time.”
Kenna stared mutely at the door as it was locked from the other side. Too late she found her voice. “Wait!” she cried, running to the door and pounding on it with her fists. “Come back here! I want to know what you meant!” There was no reply, not that she had expected one. Kenna sagged against the door, fists clenched.
Nicholas was pacing the floor in Victorine’s room. Without fail he would glance at the mantel clock as he turned sharply on his heel to resume pacing in the opposite direction. “I cannot let you do it, Victorine. It’s too dangerous.”
Victorine’s fingers plucked nervously at the folds of her dress. “There is no other way. The note is very specific. I must go to the caves myself with Kenna’s ransom. If I do not—”
“I read the damn message,” Nick said, barely holding onto the threads of his temper. “I know what it said. What I don’t understand is why. Why you, Victorine? Why must you be the one to deliver the money?”
“I suppose because I am a woman. I do not present the same threat as you.” Victorine’s hair had become markedly gray in the weeks that followed Kenna’s funeral services. For years she had given the appearance of being much younger than her age. It was no longer true. There were deep lines about her mouth and eyes and her normally clear complexion was now simply colorless. “I wish I had not called you down from London,” she said. “I knew you would argue. I would have done this thing myself if it were not for the fact that you control the money and there was no time for me to sell my jewels.”
“Thank God you did send for me. I would not for the world wish you to do this thing alone. But, Victorine, you may be risking yourself without cause. Can either one of us be certain that Kenna is truly alive and that this message you received is not some cruel joke? Let me go in your stead. If I have the money with me do you really think Kenna’s abductor will turn me away? Of course he won’t. And if Kenna is there I am better suited to protect her from further harm.”
“I’m afraid for you. You could be watched as you enter the caves. Kenna’s abductor may not come if he sees you.”
“That is a chance I’ll have to take.” Nick’s fingers threaded through his hair. The smile that touched his lips and blue eyes was bleak. “Victorine, I have put the gold and silver in the valise as directed. In truth, I doubt you could carry it, certainly not the entire way to the caves. If I leave now I will reduce my chances of being seen entering the cave.”
Victorine nodded. “Then go, Nicholas. Godspeed.” She waited until she heard Nick’s steps recede along the corridor, then Victorine went to her chiffonier and opened the bottom drawer. She sifted through dainty undergarments and hose until she found what she wanted. Cautiously she removed the pistol she had kept hidden there since Robert Dunne’s murder.
Rhys was waiting impatiently for Powell at the edge of the woods. When the older man inadvertently crossed his path Rhys stepped out from behind a tree and called to him.
Powell jerked with surprise, twisting around quickly.
His eyes narrowed as he made out the figure of his friend. “God almighty! You’ve likely pushed me nearer my grave. I couldn’t believe it when I received Polly’s note that you wanted to meet with me. What are you doing in England, Rhys?”
Rhys offered Powell
the briefest of explanations, telling him only the most necessary details. “I arrived in London less than forty-eight hours ago. I spent one night at Polly’s and I had planned to talk to Nick yesterday. I found out he left a card game at White’s to return to Dunnelly the day before. I can think of only two reasons he would walk out on a wager. How is Victorine?”
“Much the same. Not in good health, hasn’t been since…well, you know. But she’s no worse. It was she who sent for Nick. I know because I saw her give young Billy the note.”
“That leaves something to do with Kenna. Which is why I think we haven’t much time. Hours. Days. I don’t know. But something will happen here before the week is out.”
Powell nodded heavily. “That’s a certainty, Deverell will have to move quickly if he wants to be any help to Napoleon. You’ve heard that Wellington will make his stand soon?”
“Yes. Everyone in London is talking of it. At Waterloo, I believe.”
“If Deverell knows, then he will want to ransom Kenna soon and leave the country.”
“I agree. Can you get me into the house? Hide me until we know something?”
“We can go now. The house is quiet. There are still a few hours left before the servants are up.”
Rhys followed Powell across the yard, keeping low as a precaution. They had just rounded the rear corner of the manor when Powell came to an abrupt halt, holding out his arm to keep Rhys at his back. “Look there! Near the summerhouse!”
Rhys eyes narrowed in the dark as he tried to identify the figure hurrying toward the summerhouse. “Is that Deverell? Look! He’s carrying something.”
Powell had to put a restraining hand on Rhys’s shoulder to keep him from running out and stopping the man. “Not Deverell. That’s Lord Dunne. Or at least that’s Lord Dunne’s cape.”
“I cannot afford another case of mistaken identity,” said Rhys. I’m following him.”
“No. Let me. I’ll go to the summerhouse and watch the beach. You take the passage to the caves. You can climb the stairs faster than I can. Are you armed?”
“Yes. Is the lantern still at the top of the stairs?”
“Aye. Everything’s much as you left it. No one’s used that passage but me. There’s been no activity in the caves since you went to America.”
“Small wonder,” Rhys said dryly. “What with our traitor out of the country as well. Be careful, Powell.”
“You also.” He gave Rhys’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze, then the two men parted company.
“It’s time,” Mason announced. “We’re expected.”
“You were there the night my father was killed,” Kenna said.
“Aren’t you the clever one. Come on.”
Kenna refused to move. “You’re Michael Deveraux.”
“On occasion. I confess I am surprised that it took you so long to realize it.”
“The only time I saw you as Michael Deveraux you were wearing a costume,” she reminded him.
“Effective, wasn’t it?”
“Very. You must have been relieved that the Clouds’ affair was a masque. I would have had no difficulty recognizing Mason Deverell.”
“No difficulty at all,” he agreed. “If you recall I did not press my good fortune that night. I made it a point to avoid you. Frankly, I did not know you even knew my surname.”
“Rhys discovered it when he was tearing apart London to find me.”
Mason appeared uninterested. “I would rather you save the whole boring story of how he managed to find you for another time. We must be going.” He withdrew a length of rope from his pocket. “Turn around and place your hands behind your back.”
Kenna hesitated, then did as he asked, remembering the vial he carried with him. He would drug her if she refused him and Kenna believed it was better to have her wits about her. Mason tied her hands with practiced efficiency then took her by the elbow and led her topside. Kenna looked around curiously when she reached the upper deck. There were only a few men in sight.
Mason caught her puzzled expression and explained. “It only takes a small crew for a ship this size. The others are sleeping now, waiting only for my orders that we leave for France.”
“You’re confident.”
Mason shrugged. He helped Kenna into the boat that would take them ashore. After he stepped in, bringing an unlighted lantern with him, two men lowered it over the side. Mason took up the oars and rowed competently toward shore.
Kenna recognized the stretch of beach they were heading for. It was a little under a mile from the cave and with the additional cover of darkness Mason’s ship could not be detected even from the vantage point of the summerhouse. Mason took the boat as close as he could to the beach, got out himself, and dragged it a few more yards so Kenna would not have to walk in the water when she stepped out. His gallantry unnerved her. He extended his hand to her with the same cool indifference he had exhibited when he had dropped Alice into the Charles River. Kenna shuddered and shook off his touch. “I can walk myself.”
“As you wish.” He took the lantern from the boat and fell in step beside Kenna, forcing her to keep close to the base of the cliff so they could not be seen from above.
It took them a little more than fifteen minutes to reach the entrance to the cave. Mason told Kenna to step inside before he lighted the lantern. She started to walk toward the rear of the chamber but Mason caught her elbow and held her back. He lifted the lantern, pointing to the footprints he saw. “I believe we have a large problem,” he said lowly, “judging by the size of those prints. You will walk ahead from now on.” He drew a pistol from his waistband and pointed it at her. “Remember this will be at your back.”
“I don’t think I could forget.” Kenna could barely hear herself over the pounding of her heart. When Mason nudged her with the barrel of the pistol she began slowly walking forward.
She had never returned to the caves after her father’s death and with every step she took her mind was filled with returning visions of that night. Her nightmares were never as clear as the things she saw in her mind’s eyes now. She stumbled a little, balking at going deeper into the cave.
“Go on,” Mason whispered harshly.
“I can’t. Please don’t make me.”
“Move!”
Kenna forced herself to take one step, then another. She saw herself as she was ten years ago, clutching the damp cave walls, trembling as she listened to the argument in the chamber. She knew now what she did not know then. It had been Nick she saw in the gallery. She could remember with startling clarity that Victorine had cried out his name. But just as she knew it had been Nick in the gallery, she knew with equal certainty that it had not been Nicholas with Victorine in the cave. At thirteen, her young eyes still filled with betrayal of Nick’s affair with his own stepmother, she had confused Nick with Mason Deverell, an easy enough mistake given their costumes. Robert Dunne’s words to Mason that night echoed in her head. She could hear her father’s bitter pronouncement: “I had not thought you could be capable of this—not betraying your country to some notion of world peace designed by Napoleon.” At the time Kenna thought the country he was referring to was England. She realized now her father was accusing Mason of betraying France by choosing to follow the Bonapartists. “At the very least,” her father had said, “I should bring you before the courts, but I find my pride too great to allow you to shame my house.” Kenna could well imagine the humiliation her father must have felt, knowing that he had helped bring Mason to England.
Kenna could understand now what she could not imagine then. It only remained for her to discover why Victorine had been with Mason and why Robert had merely chastised his wife for not trusting him, absolving her of all guilt and protecting her until the end.
Rhys cursed softly as he searched the top of the passageway for the lantern. Damn, Powell had assured him it was here. He pulled back his hand sharply as he touched a jagged piece of glass. After a few seconds of cautious groping Rhys found the bent l
antern frame. Useless! The damn thing was useless. Fearful of wasting more time acquiring a lantern, certain he could roll away the stone in the dark if he had to, Rhys started down the steps. He proceeded in exactly the same way he had when he had followed Robert, holding one hand in front of him and passing the other along the wall. He despised the slowness with which he was forced to move but resigned himself to it. He would be of no help to anyone if he broke his neck on the stairs.
“Nick!” Kenna cried his name as she entered the antechamber. He was standing near the far wall. A valise rested near his feet and the lantern he’d brought sat with chilling familiarity on the natural stone shelf. Without thinking, Kenna started to go forward and Nick even took a step toward her, but then she was pulled back sharply as Mason dropped his lantern and grabbed her bound wrists.
“Stay where you are, Dunne,” Mason ordered. “Tell him, Kenna.”
“He has a pistol, Nick. At my back.”
Nick clenched his teeth, nodding shortly. He remained where he was. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Oh, Nick, I’m so sorry for—”
Mason poked Kenna with the pistol. “Enough. Why are you here, Dunne? I specifically requested Vic—”
The wall behind Nick opened up suddenly, startling everyone in the chamber. Nick, closest to the gaping hole that appeared, leaped forward in alarm. Mason did not realize that Nicholas was acting on his instincts, therefore Mason acted on his own. Pushing Kenna to one side he leveled his pistol at Nick and fired. The lead ball caught Nick in the shoulder and he fell backward, hitting his head against the chamber wall. He was unconscious before he fell to the ground.
