Pleasantries were exchanged but kept brief. Codrington soon cleared his throat. “I thought I had better speak with everyone at once and produce the orders to clarify why we need two major generals in attendance.”
Thad could hear the sounds of nervous laughter, the scuffle of paper, the crack of wax seals breaking. “Ah, yes. As I assumed. Gosselin, you will take your force to the Canadian front. Ross, you will lead yours to the Chesapeake, and Cochrane will join you.”
“Yes, sir. And what shall we do there? Have we a target?”
“That is for you and Cochrane to decide, along with Cockburn, once you have arrived and had the chance to speak with him. Having been there so long already, he no doubt has an opinion on the most logical places to attack.”
Several of them spoke at once, but Thad’s ears focused on Cochrane’s low words. “Join me on the Tonnant this evening, Ross. We will discuss our plan.”
Ross’s affirmation was all he needed to hear. Silent as ship rats, Thad and Michaels crept away. Around the veranda, down the steps, and back onto the road. Not until they were back in the hubbub of town did either of them speak.
Michaels broke the silence first with a warning cough. “Tell me you don’t intend—”
“What was the point in coming otherwise?”
His first mate sighed. “You have the counts. And the destinations.”
“The greater destinations, yes. But knowing they will go to the Chesapeake tells us no more than we already guessed. We must learn their target.” Thad shook his head, his mind churning.
“How will you…?”
’Twas his turn to sigh. “There is only one option, really. I can hardly sneak aboard.”
Michaels muttered a curse. “’Tis a fool plan.”
Hoping to lighten his friend’s mood, he jabbed him with an elbow. “Thus far your disapproval has been the kiss of good fortune.”
And really, how terrible could a nighttime swim in the warm Bermuda waters be? So long as no sharks or mantas had the same idea to eavesdrop on the officers, he would be fine.
Or at the least, the hope got him through the next few hours. He was back aboard the Masquerade, in his cabin, when a knock sounded on the door and Henry stepped in. “Michaels told me about your ‘fool plan.’ Need a second?”
“Bless you.” Henry, he knew, could swim like an eel. Dabbing black greasepaint onto the last open inch of his forehead, Thad turned around. “I was hoping you would volunteer.”
Henry regarded his darkened skin with raised brows. “You make one ugly black man, Captain.”
Thad laughed and smudged the greasepaint over his hands as well. “So long as I am invisible in the night, I can live with being ugly.”
“Guess you have some practice.”
What choice did he have but to lob a boot at him?
Henry dodged it with a laugh of his own, and then he glanced down at his tan breeches. “I think I oughta put on some darker clothes. And just so you know, if any sharks come calling, you get to fight them off.”
“Noted.” Alone again, he finished concealing any flesh that could be visible over the water, tucked his black shirt into his black breeches, and headed for the door.
He got within a foot of it when a sudden image swamped him. Gwyneth, so vivid he felt he’d slammed into her. Gwyneth, with shadows back in her eyes and a frantic pencil in her hand. Gwyneth, wringing at his heart.
Turning from the exit, he lurched toward his bed and fell to his knees beside it, clasping his hands upon the extra-long mattress.
“Ready, Captain?”
Ready? No. He could not leave, could not budge, could not do anything until this hand had lifted. He shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut, and prayed.
Twenty-Four
The monsters roared and snapped. Gwyneth could hear them, could feel them, and from the corner of her eyes, could see them. But if she turned toward them, they vanished. Like smoke, like vapors. Like life.
She drew in a deep breath as she positioned her hand over the paper again. But she trembled too much and didn’t dare to touch the pencil down.
“Help me. Lord, please.” The words slipped past parched lips and buzzed about her head. But did they then float through the drawing room ceiling? She looked up, frowned. Not the drawing room, her bedchamber. When had she come up? Or had she never gone down? She was still in her nightdress, and it was dark outside the window.
It always seemed to be dark. A time that had once meant rest and peace. Or had signaled dancing and laughter, and then a sweet fall of exhaustion onto a down-filled bed.
Maybe that had been the illusion, nothing but a dream. Maybe this was reality, this endless tunnel of echoes and locked doors. She could bang upon them for hours and only give herself a headache.
You cannot know, the monsters whispered from their crevices. You are not strong enough to know. The truth would break you.
She looked at the corner it had come from, expecting to see the gnashing teeth and yawning mouth. Nothing. Breath heaving, she squeezed her eyes shut. She needed sleep. That was why the monsters had returned, that was all this was. Hallucinations. Waking dreams.