A tiny bubble of blood and river water came to her lips and Rhys touched the linen to the corner of her mouth. Her fingers relaxed. With infinite gentleness Rhys closed Alice’s sightless eyes and brushed his lips against her forehead. He adjusted the blanket so that it covered her arms and then he left the room.
* * *
TheArtemiswas two days out of Boston when her lookout sighted a ship bearing down on them from the northwest. Tanner Cloud gestured to his wife. Alexis disengaged herself from the conversation she was having with two crewmen and went to stand beside Tanner at the starboard taffrail.
“What is it?”
“You know Harry sighted a ship?”
Alexis nodded. “I heard him. He said it was an American merchant. Is there a problem?”
Tanner gave her the eyeglass. “Tell me what you make of it.”
Alex peered through the glass, silent for several minutes as the two ships sailed steadily closer. “It’s a Canning ship.”
“Yes, and the man at the bow?”
Alexis put down the glass, frowning. “It looks like Rhys, but that couldn’t be.”
“That’s what I thought, which is why I called you over.”
There was a shout from above. “Her captain’s signaling! They want to board!”
Tanner gave orders which altered the course of theArtemisand cut her speed in half. Twenty minutes later he was extending his hand to Rhys.
Rhys exchanged brief greetings with Tanner and Alexis then grimly explained his purpose. “I need to talk to Deveraux. Kenna’s been abducted.”
Alexis sucked in a breath, putting her hand on Tanner’s forearm. “When? How did it happen?”
At the same time Tanner spoke. “Deveraux’s not here.”
Rhys felt as if he had been kicked in the gut. He had barely slept in the last three days, making arrangements to leave Boston, plotting the course of theArtemisbased on what Alexis had told him, and then taking most of the watches, afraid to trust anyone else lest they miss sighting the Garnet vessel. Now he was finally here, prepared to force Michael Deveraux’s memory if he had to, and he was being told the man wasn’t on board. “You never overtook his ship?” he asked.
“We caught theHarmonydays ago. Michael wasn’t there. He never sailed with the ship, Rhys. He’s still in Boston.”
“Not any longer.” Rhys gripped the taffrail. “Christ! That I could have been so thick-witted!” It was clear suddenly. So transparent that he could not forgive his own stupidity. “Michael Deveraux. Mason Deverell. The same person. Why didn’t I know? Why didn’t I see it before?”
* * *
Kenna had no concept of time. In the dark hold where Mason Deverell kept her like an animal she could not distinguish between day and night. Time flowed unhindered by the interruptions that would have oriented her. She was served two meals each day, always the same fare of broth, hard tack, fruit, and cold biscuits. No one spoke to her. No one answered her questions.
Her room had few amenities. There were several thin blankets which she laid out on a bed of straw, a chamber pot that was emptied when she complained about it, and a wooden crate she used as a chair. She had her valise, filled with the clothing Alice had packed for her, but Kenna had no use for any of it. She was too dispirited to care about anything so inconsequential as her appearance.
Days and nights melded, becoming weeks. The steady motion of the ship rocked Kenna to sleep at odd hours. She never dreamed and she never saw Mason Deverell.
* * *
Nicholas Dunne frowned at the interruption. He had finally been dealt a hand worth playing and now a stone-faced waiter was hovering at his shoulder bearing a message for him on a silver salver. With thinly veiled impatience Nick put down his cards and took the note. He read it once, then, hands trembling, he read it again. Ignoring the questions and protests of his fellow players, Nick excused himself, a curious tightness in his voice. “I must return to Dunnelly,” he said. With no more explanation than that he turned on his heel and strode briskly out of White’s.
* * *
Rhys was not the sort of man who usually questioned his decisions, yet he found himself wondering time and again if he had done the right thing by telling Alexis and Tanner to return to Boston while he went on to England. They were more than willing to let him stay aboard their ship, change their route, and sail for Dunnelly, but Rhys refused their help. He had not done so out of hand. Rhys had carefully considered their offer, yet he felt bound not to involve them in this matter. He could not be certain that Mason was taking Kenna to England. He hadn’t even the assurance that Kenna was still alive. He was resting his entire hope on past evidence of Mason’s greed, motivated, he was certain now, by his loyalty to Napoleon’s cause. Mason was pursuing money to finance Napoleon’s return to power and he saw Kenna as a means to his ends. Rhys was convinced that if Mason had only been interested in protecting his identity, his links to Dunnelly, he would have killed Kenna at the house. The elaborate charade he had undertaken would have been unnecessary. Mason seemed to be after a larger prize and the only place where Rhys could imagine him going was back to England.
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.
* * *
