Doubts aboard the 'Day Dream'
He had not been altogether sorry for Andrew's interruption, but glad rather of the opportunity to regain his self-control. Andrew's evident surprise and embarrassment at seeing them sitting side by side, hand in hand, had reawakened his own doubts that Marguerite's new tenderness was perhaps after all some caprice, and some part of him – his head or his heart, he did not know which but it hardly mattered – was urging caution, or at least restraint. God knows he wanted her: he yearned more than anything else to lose himself in her embrace again, as he had done only once before, except in dreams; but she had hurt him so badly since then, and many times during the unhappy months afterwards he had vowed that if his fortunes changed and she smiled on him again, he would not allow her to see his pain, nor to toy with his affections, only to cast him aside once more when she became bored with him.
He felt, now, that he needed some time alone to think, without her distracting presence; without the fragrance of her tormenting him, or the feel of her soft skin or hair against him; time to consider this new situation and to weigh it up. He was not really needed up on deck – Andrew would see to everything, and to the accommodation of their passengers, once ashore, without being asked; but the pretext might allow him the occasion for some private thought; and so it was that he explained to Marguerite that there were things he must arrange, and that he would return for her when the Comte de Tournay and the others were safely disembarked. She accepted this quietly with a smile, and he left her alone in his cabin and went up on deck.
They had made good speed and were indeed not far from Dover: he could see the Kentish cliffs glimmering softly ahead of them. He leant forward on to the railing, wincing as he did so: the weals on his shoulders and back were beginning to stiffen; but the physical wounds would heal – the pain would pass, he knew: whereas the bitter ache in his heart – would he bear that to his grave, he wondered. He looked thoughtfully out towards the distant lights around the harbour. The fugitives were all in the saloon below and although there were one or two of his crew nearby, they did not speak to him: indeed he had the air of a man immersed in his own thoughts. The night air was chill and he relished the prospect of a good fire in the cottage hearth – but wait: would he take Marguerite to the cottage?.. Or to the "Rest"? She knew nothing of the cottage of course – but it was not merely her surprise, and the explanations it would require, which made him hesitate. It was perhaps an unworthy thought, but it was the one place where, for the past year, he had felt he could be entirely alone, and be himself: no act required for anyone's benefit. Until he could be more sure of her feelings, he might perhaps regret revealing to her the little secluded house, his last refuge...
Andrew's voice suddenly greeted him again: "Percy, I had not thought to find you here awhile; you looked so - " he tried to find the right word: "so companionable together, you and Lady Blakeney. I can oversee the coming ashore, you know that – you need not be here; look to Lady Blakeney, Percy!"
His friend's encouragement caught him off guard somehow and Andrew must have seen the hesitation in his face: "Percy," he asked quietly, "Is aught ill? Surely not! There must be much to talk about between you ... " He paused; her remorse at what she had done had moved him to pity, and her determination to atone had caused him to reassess his perceptions – his prejudices perhaps – about her character: he felt he had misjudged her, and he very much wanted his old friend to be happy with her, but it seemed as if there might be some obstacle he did not understand and he suddenly felt he should plead on her behalf. Previously he would have shied away from talk of matters of the heart, but now, with the memory of Suzanne's beautiful dark eyes and sweet smile turned on him, he felt emboldened.
He said quickly: "Percy, I know you and she... She told me, Percy, that all was not well between you – she was most discreet, but she had to explain that you and she had been estranged, for many months it would seem, and that was why she had not guessed before.." He paused; Percy had not moved, but was clearly listening intently; he took a deep breath and then continued, speaking quietly at such close quarters: "When I chanced upon you near the Chat gris there was no time to talk, or to tell you much: but whilst we waited, she and I, in Dover, first for the storm to pass, then for the tide, there was nothing to do but to talk; she told me, Percy, that when she discovered your secret it was as if a thunderbolt had struck her which made her reel; I know only the bones of the terrible bargain which she struck – was forced to strike – with Chauvelin, but when she realised – too late – what she had done, she was horrified, and she vowed, there and then, that she would follow you, and warn you if she could, and if she could not warn and save you, she would die with you, at your side" – his voice had a catch in it now – "and I feared that she would be driven mad by the delays, when all she wanted was to reach you."
He paused again; Percy had stepped back from the railing and turned to face him; he threw his great coat back and thrust his hands deep into his pockets, a habitual gesture, and although he returned his friend's gaze steadily enough, Andrew could see even in the moonlight that his face was tense with suppressed emotion. Andrew knew he did not need to say much more. "There are not many women who would have faced the dangers she did, Percy, by trying to find you, or the trials: the state of her poor little feet attests to that. I hope you won't mind my speaking frankly, Percy, but... she is a remarkable woman; I firmly believe that if she were to know that she has your forgiveness and your trust, she will make you very happy."
A few moments passed, and then Percy spoke: "It's true, Andrew, that she and I have not been ... as close as we might have wished, for many months; I regret to say that the longer the time which passed, the more difficult it seemed to try to put things back on the right path... And now ... " He passed his hand over his eyes – such an exhausted movement that Andrew reproached himself for having momentarily forgotten how very painful his chief's back must be – before continuing, "I need to remind myself that Lady Blakeney – Marguerite – has known my secret for much longer than I have known she had discovered it; she has had time to envisage a happy reconciliation, whereas it was only a few hours ago that I became aware of this change of heart; and after such a long time, I must confess, old chap, that I am a little apprehensive. But that will pass, I am sure it will pass... Andrew," he said, clapping the younger man on the back, "Thank you, dear friend, for your words of wisdom and encouragement; I am indebted to you for – for making me see sense!" he finished with a laugh. "And thank you, again, from the bottom of my heart, for your disobedience in coming after me, to travel with her and keep her safe for as long as you were able. I shall have to overlook the insubordination this time I fear!" He spoke lightly now: the conversation – quite unlike any other they had ever had – was over. He smiled at his lieutenant, who now went to prepare their passengers for coming ashore, whilst he turned back to the railing to collect his thoughts awhile before returning to his wife.
To be continued...