to 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 Five
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; his lover 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
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 Five
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; his lover 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
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