Eye of the Storm by Lee Rowan

chance to share this passion, except in letters. We have few visitors, and I cannot travel without assistance, nor serve in the military. My eyes, you see,” he added, touching the frame of his very thick-lensed spectacles. “In my home, there is no trouble. Outdoors, I fall down. In battle, I would be more dangerous to France than to England.”
    Marshall was touched by the self-deprecating humor. “Then there is more than one good result of your misfortune, sir. I shall never fear the chance to return your hospitality aboard ship.”
    “You are in the Navy?”
    The question reminded Marshall that this charming mathematical gentleman was, after all, a Frenchman. “Not at present, sir. Like most of my fellows, I was set ashore when the treaty was signed. It was the greatest good fortune that my friend Mr. St. John had decided to stop dealing in furs in Canada and began dealing with gems in Europe, and needed a man with experience to take charge of his ship.”
    “With such a cargo, would it not be safer for him to take himself aboard a larger ship?”
    “No doubt, but I believe that North America breeds men with a taste for independence. His business is small, and he does not have the large, precious stones. I have advised him that we should travel in convoy if we venture outside the Channel.”
    Beauchene nodded as they approached the end of the corridor. “That would be wise in any case. The war has gone on for so long that too many men have forgotten how to behave as men, not brigands. Come, let me introduce you to the mistress of the house.”
    They entered a large, bright room, with windows looking out onto a garden that in summer would no doubt be beautiful. The room was clean, but it had obviously seen better days; both the wall-paper and the furniture looked a trifle faded. Marshall noted all that in passing, his attention on the lady who sat in a tapestry chair beside a small fire. A tiny white dog with a brown face and huge brown ears peered up attentively from her lap. Its tail wagged tentatively as he approached.
    “Maman , this is Captain William Marshall of the merchant ship Mermaid. Captain, my mother, Madame Beauchene.”
    “Enchanté, Madame,” Marshall said, making a leg. He decided that he would not attempt the Continental kiss on her hand; this trim, sharp-eyed lady must have married and become a mother at quite an early age. Even though there were signs of silver in her dark hair, she appeared to be on the sunny side of fifty, and she did not look susceptible to flattery…and he did not want to run afoul of the little dog, who was watching him closely. “I apologize for intruding upon your home.”
    “I imagine you are sorrier still, after meeting Jean-Claude,” she said in passable English. “You have made this a great day for him. Ever since the treaty was signed, he has been haunting the grounds, waiting for the English to invade and murder us all. He is good with the hens and the vegetables, but he does have his notions. And now he has caught an Englishman in the kitchen garden—his fears are vindicated.”
    “I came unarmed, Madame,” Marshall said, spreading his hands. “I mean no harm to you or your household.”
    “Yet you came. Why?” She gestured at the settee opposite her. “Sit, I have told Yvette to bring tea.”
    Beauchene sat down beside him, and Marshall once again explained about the errant Dr. Colbert. Madame Beauchene’s reaction was much the same as her son’s had been. “I would be most glad to see him, but we have had no word. Why did he not travel along the shore?”
    “I wish I knew, Madame. Mr. St. James is most willing to oblige his cousin, but I cannot think it a good idea for us to loiter along the coast. Our mission is a private matter, quite harmless, but our presence might alarm the authorities. Can you think of anything that would have delayed the doctor?” He included them both in his question. “He would have been traveling from Paris, and we