Rhys knew Polly was right. Kenna had been unhappy and frightened and more alone than she ever would have admitted. Her life at Dunnelly had taken on a sameness that had been eroding her spirit and when events began to change the catalyst was betrayal. She had been powerless, confused, and defeated. It was small wonder that she clung to the solace of the drug that had been forced upon her.
Rhys squeezed Polly’s hands gently. “Kenna and I will manage, Polly. I thank you for all you have done, not simply for Kenna, but everything. I’ll write to you.”
There was an ache in Polly’s throat. She stood on tiptoe and kissed Rhys full on the mouth. His arms closed around her and they held each other for a long moment. Finally, she broke away. “I want to hear about everything. You must describe it all to me. The voyage, your home, the business. Everything.”
“I will.”
She nodded, blinking back tears. “Farewell, Rhys. God bless you.”
“And you, Miss Rose.” But he spoke to Polly’s retreating back as she hurried up the walk to her home.
Kenna was sleeping by the time Rhys stopped the coach on the wharf. Thanking heaven for this favor, he lifted her from the carriage and carried her up the gangplank of theCarasea. He spoke to the man on watch before he took Kenna to his cabin.
He had no trouble finding the bed in the dark but he bumped into a few things when he went searching for a lantern. After a few tries he was able to light it and then placed it back in its secured holder on the massive oak desk. Looking around him, he wondered if Kenna would appreciate the luxury of her accommodations. His father often likened himself to a thrifty New Englander, but he traveled with every comfort available to him.
The bed was of three-quarter width, its mattress stuffed thick with goosedown. The trunk secured to the floor at its foot was filled with heavy blankets and other fresh linens. In one corner of the cabin there was a small Franklin stove for warmth on the cold ocean crossing and Rhys counted twenty individual panes of leaded glass that made up the large bowed window at the cabin’s stern end. At least Kenna could see where she had been if she did not want to see where she was going. Crossing the length of the window at its base was a bench padded in red velvet with drawers built below it for storage.
The large cabin had its own dining table that could seat six with ease, two shelves anchored to the wall that held a selection of books limited to shipping, sermons, and science, and an oak wardrobe which was filled with Rhys’s and Kenna’s clothes. A full-length mirror was attached to one side of it and there was a commode with a basin built into its counter and a cupboard beneath it which held a chamber pot. Most of the hardwood floor had been covered with an expensive Oriental carpet and the incidental fixtures such as the lantern holder, knobs, and handles were polished brass. Rhys thought if he sold the contents of this room he might well be able to put Canning Shipping back on its feet.
Kenna continued to sleep deeply while Rhys changed her clothes and dressed her in one of the more modest nightgowns he had purchased for her. It proved something of a struggle to manage the change without her help, but he knew if she had been awake it would have been nothing less than a battle. When he was certain she was as comfortable and warm as he could make her, he left the cabin and locked the door behind him.
The watch had not changed. “My wife is sleeping in our cabin this evening. I trust she will not be disturbed in any way while I see to what remains of our belongings at the townhouse.”
“I’ll make certain the others know, Mr. Canning,” the man replied. “No one will wake her.” He hesitated. “Speakin’ for myself, sir, it was a terrible thing about your father and Mr. Richard. Good men, both of ’em. Please accept my sympathies.”
“Thank you.” Rhys struggled not to show his unease with the sailor’s condolences. During the funeral he had had to come to terms with the fact that the man who was lauded, respected, and eulogized, was a stranger to him. Only Nick had suspected how uncomfortable it had been for him to hear tributes from the other diplomats to his father’s genius and to accept sympathy for his passing. Roland Canning had never really been alive to Rhys. “It’s kind of you to say so.” Before the sailor could speak again Rhys slipped away into the foggy London night.
Rhys did not sleep at all. He finished writing the glowing characters for his staff who would all be seeking new employment and signed papers that would permit his solicitors to sell the townhouse. He attached a codicil forbidding the sale until every one of his employees had found a position equal to or better than what they had with him. He left a large payment to be distributed to the staff after he was gone and another envelope filled with markers he had accepted from his fellow gamblers which was to go to Polly. She could choose to collect on them if she wanted.
Just before daybreak Powell came to his study and saved him from nodding off and literally missing the boat.
“Thank you, Powell,” he said, accepting the steaming cup of tea that was set in front of him. “Have you reconsidered coming with me?”
“I can’t, sir. There’s much to do here.”
Rhys had known the answer. It was really too much to expect Powell to join him. The man’s services were going to be needed while Napoleon was contemplating the regaining of an empire. Rhys regretted he was going to have no part in it. Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, or perhaps it was that Powell knew him so well, for his friend spoke up.
“You did more than your share, sir, uncovering the plot to free the little corporal. It was a bloody shame those blokes in the Foreign Office discussed it to death before acting on your information.”
“They are not given to hasty action.”
“Well, they’ve got their hands full now.”
“They do indeed.” He sipped his tea, looking at Powell over the rim of his cup. “Do you have any questions about the layout of the caves and passages at Dunnelly?”
Powell touched a finger to his forehead, “All up here, sir. Every word. I’ll be starting my post at the manor in two days and I’ll have access to everything.”
“Good. I suspect there will be more money changing hands as Napoleon masses his army. You must discover who his supporters are. I regret most deeply I was unable to.”
“No one thinks you did less than you could.”
Rhys smiled briefly at the reference to the men who ran the Foreign Office. “I’m glad they’re going to have a chance to discover your full worth, Powell.”
“I appreciate your confidence, sir.”
Rhys set down his drink. “Now that that’s settled, perhaps you can tell me who I am going to turn to when I’ve gone too deep in my cups?”
“As to that,” Powell said, grinning from ear to ear, “I’ve left you my special recipe. You’ll find it amongst your papers.”
