The Deception at Lyme: Or, the Peril of Persuasion (Mr. And Mrs. Darcy Mysteries) (31 page)

“It is not a matter of concern, but curiosity. We are all so fortunate that you happened to be aboard, and happened to observe our mishap.”

“I was aboard to meet with Captain Tourner.”

“Indeed? As we have just heard, Captain Tourner is not here. He must have forgotten your appointment. Did he send a boat for you, to bring you out to the ship? Perhaps we can all use it to return to land, since he is not available to steer the vessel into the harbor.”

“I doubt the ladies will want to hazard another small boat on these waters.”

“Hmm. I suppose you are correct in that.” He glanced toward the door through which Georgiana and Miss Ashford had passed. “So, this
meeting
that was to have taken place. Is that why you were in his cabin? Were you awaiting his return?”

“His cabin?”

“Yes, Lieutenant. His cabin. The cabin we all saw you dive from. Through the gun port.” He looked pointedly at St. Clair’s shirt. “And in which, I wager, we would find your coat and waistcoat, were we to look. Shall I ask Miss Darcy whether they are in there?”

The baronet’s gaze was direct and unyielding; the officer’s shifted to the cabin entrance.

“Yes, I was waiting for him, and watching out the window for his return.”

“What were you to meet about?”

“Again, sir, I do not see where—”

“Indulge me.”

“I had hoped to persuade him to hire me on as his first mate,” St. Clair said.

“Indeed? How fortuitous! Then you will not mind taking the wheel now and guiding us into the harbor.”

St. Clair regarded the baronet incredulously. “You are suggesting that I take control of a ship without its master’s permission?”

“This is an emergency, Lieutenant. We need to get the ladies to shore, and as you noted, they cannot endure transport on another small boat. Do not worry—I know one of the owners of this vessel. If there is a problem, I will make it right. And if you do well, I will put in a word for you. Consider this an audition for the job.”

Elizabeth thought Sir Laurence was being incredibly presumptuous, both in the authoritative tone he was taking with the man who had just saved all their lives, and in his commandeering of the ship. He was clearly jealous of St. Clair—jealous that the lieutenant had rescued Georgiana from the sea when the baronet could not, jealous that it had been St. Clair who had happened to be standing close enough to catch her just now, and to whom she had cleaved during her emotional collapse. Elizabeth was, however, so wet and weary, that she did not care what motivated the baronet, or what connexions he flaunted, or how pompous he had to become, if it meant they could get off this ship and onto land one minute sooner.

“Very well,” St. Clair said, “but I will need the crew’s cooperation.”

“I will take care of that, too.”

Lieutenant St. Clair assumed command of the wheel, and they raised anchor. Despite the choppy sea, it was a smooth, short, uneventful trip into the harbor. Until they reached the dock.

And a scream came from the captain’s cabin.

Thirty

They were sick with horror.

—Persuasion

As it turned out, Captain Tourner was aboard the
Black Cormorant
after all.

In his wardrobe. With a head wound that made the skipper’s look like a scratch.

Georgiana, wearing a gentleman’s coat over her wet dress, was shaking once more. “We—we were cold and looking for more dry clothes.…”

Miss Ashford rushed to a basin and was ill again. Elizabeth looked as stunned as Darcy felt. Sir Laurence, too, surveyed the scene in disbelief before leveling an accusing glare at St. Clair.

“I am guessing, Lieutenant, that Captain Tourner declined your application for employment?”

Though the baronet was quick to judgment, Darcy did note that St. Clair appeared the only person not shocked by the discovery.

“I am not responsible for this.”

“Indeed? Even had we not all seen you dive from this cabin, you admitted to being in it earlier. Is that not your waistcoat on the floor? It appears far too small for Tourner. So do the shoes beside it.”

Georgiana looked down at the coat she was wearing, then at St. Clair. “Is this yours, too?”

St. Clair’s gaze remained on Sir Laurence. “That does not mean I killed him.”

“Then who did? Mr. Darcy, what do you think? Does not all the evidence lead to the lieutenant? He sneaked aboard, killed the captain, then remained hidden in his cabin waiting for an opportunity to slip away. No wonder he tried to discourage my sister and yours from coming in here.”

When Darcy considered additional evidence of which the baronet was unaware—the conversation between St. Clair and Mr. Elliot that he and Elizabeth had overheard on the Cobb, the argument between St. Clair and Tourner that they had observed at the ship launch, the history between the captain and the lieutenant going back to the
Magna Carta
—he had to admit that St. Clair looked very guilty.

He addressed Lieutenant St. Clair. “Can you provide another explanation for how the captain came to be hidden in his wardrobe?”

“If I am being accused of murdering a fellow naval officer, this is a matter for the Admiralty to adjudicate. Anything further that I have to say on the subject will be said to them.”

“Very well,” said Sir Laurence. “Then let us go.”

“I will help you escort him,” Darcy said. If Lieutenant St. Clair were, in fact, guilty, he deserved whatever justice his court-martial determined.

“May I retrieve my shoes?” St. Clair asked.

“By all means,” said Sir Laurence. “They are evidence. The waistcoat should come with us, as well.”

St. Clair crossed the room. As he put on his shoes and picked up the waistcoat, Georgiana watched, her face a confusion of disappointment.

“Lieutenant?”

He turned toward her, his expression unreadable. “Yes, Miss Darcy?”

She took off his coat and held it out to him. “Take this, too.”

*   *   *

The Darcys spent the next day simply recovering from their trial by sea. Early the following morning, a note arrived from Captain Wentworth. He had news, and asked that they all—Darcy, Elizabeth, and Georgiana—come to his home posthaste. He further requested that they bring the artifact and Lieutenant Fitzwilliam’s diary.

Anne Wentworth herself opened the door to them. “I am glad you were able to come directly. We are gathered in my husband’s study.”

Darcy wondered who “we” comprised. He was kept in suspense by a brief stop in the sitting room, where Mrs. Smith sat alone, wearing a light shawl. When they entered, she was struggling to her feet with the aid of her cane, but sat back down upon recognizing them.

“Oh!” She laughed. “When I heard the door, I thought you were the sedan chair, come early. I expect it this half hour.”

“Are you quite certain you wish to go alone this morning?” Mrs. Wentworth asked. “As I said before, I cannot accompany you just now, but am happy to do so later.”

“No, no—this is my usual time, and I can see you are busy today. I will forgo seabathing this week, with Nurse Rooke visiting her sister in Bath, but I want to sit on the Cobb and take in the air. I will be fine—the chair men will help me to the bench, and come back for me when I specify. Do not give me another thought. You are so good to me, Anne—I wish I could be of more use to you in return, but I can at least be of minimal trouble.”

“Very well, then. But the housekeeper has gone to market, so I will wait with you to let in the chair bearers.”

“I can manage that, too, though I may be slow.”

They compromised on Mrs. Wentworth’s assisting Mrs. Smith to a settee in the front hall, where she could wait within easy distance of the door. When Mrs. Smith was moved, the Darcys and Mrs. Wentworth proceeded to the study.

A uniformed Captain Wentworth and another naval officer—an admiral, by the stripes on his cuffs—were already seated at the round table, but the admiral rose upon the ladies’ entrance. Another officer stood facing the window, and turned upon the Darcys’ arrival.

“Lieutenant St. Clair,” Georgiana blurted.

Darcy, too, was surprised. He had not expected St. Clair to be at liberty until after his court-martial—if then.

“Miss Darcy.” He studied her, searching for something. “You look well,” he said finally. “I hope your health has not suffered as a result of your ordeal?”

“No, I—my health has not suffered.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

Georgiana’s emotional state, however, had certainly been affected. She had not spoken of either Lieutenant St. Clair or Sir Laurence since disembarking the
Black Cormorant,
and when Sir Laurence had called yesterday to enquire after her, she had declined to see him, pleading fatigue. Darcy did not know what thoughts were presently somersaulting through her mind, but from her expression—hopeful but guarded—he expected she was struggling to understand how any human being could take one life and save another in the same hour. Darcy, too, was having trouble reconciling the man who yesterday had rescued them at great personal risk with what he had learned about St. Clair both before and after the event.

“How is it that you are here?” she asked. “I thought you would be in gaol, or wherever it is that the navy keeps men awaiting court-martial.”

“It is a long story, one that the admiral will explain, and that I wanted you to hear.”

Captain Wentworth introduced the Darcys to the man at his side, Admiral Croft.

“Well, Miss Darcy,” Admiral Croft said after the formalities had been exchanged, “I hear you had quite a time of it the other day. I am glad you are still with us.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Your brother and his wife are here at my request, for I believe they possess information vital to the navy, but as St. Clair said, you are here solely at his.” He motioned them into seats at the table, upon which was spread a map of the West Indies and the Spanish American coast. Mrs. Wentworth took the chair closest to her husband; Elizabeth and Darcy the next two. Georgiana sat to Darcy’s right, beside two empty chairs. St. Clair remained standing near the window.

Admiral Croft also remained standing. “Before I begin, you all must swear to keep secret anything you hear in this room today. In return, I give my assurance that you may speak with full latitude—do not fear that anything you reveal will be used against you or reflect poorly on family members connected with the navy. Further—” He looked at Lieutenant St. Clair with an expression of respect. “I vouch for the character of this young fellow. Whatever accusations have been fired at him or whatever suspicions you may harbor, you can speak as freely before him as you would to me or Captain Wentworth.”

They all gave their promises.

“Thank you.” Admiral Croft again looked at the young officer. “There are many whose lives will depend upon your secrecy.”

Georgiana’s gaze followed the admiral’s. “Including Lieutenant St. Clair?” she asked.

“Actually,” the admiral said, “this gentleman is not Lieutenant St. Clair.”

Thirty-one

“Well, now, you shall hear something that will surprise you.”

—
Admiral Croft,
Persuasion

“He is
Captain
St. Clair,” Admiral Croft continued, “and has been for three years. However, none outside the Admiralty know his true rank because he is working for us on special detail, one best performed by an officer who is—or appears to be—a lieutenant.”

All eyes were suddenly upon the newly acknowledged captain. Having spent years of his life deliberately deflecting attention, he now shifted self-consciously under so much of it, all at once.

“Congratulations, Captain,” Wentworth said.

“Thank you,” St. Clair replied, “but pray, do not congratulate me prematurely—I have not yet successfully completed my assignment.”

“You will, my boy,” the admiral said. “We are finally traveling under full sail.” He turned to Darcy. “Captain Wentworth tells me that you recently received a diary belonging to your late cousin, who served with St. Clair on the
Magna Carta
.”

“I did.” Darcy glanced at St. Clair. “It was in his sea chest.”

“He says that it holds information about a pair of gold artifacts found aboard, and that you have one of them. Captain St. Clair and I would like to see the artifact—and the diary.”

Though Darcy trusted the admiral—primarily based on his connexion to Captain Wentworth—he had not yet heard enough to surrender the pendant and Gerard’s journal without reservation. “You have said that those at the highest level of the Royal Navy are behind Captain St. Clair’s assignment. Might I ask why two small figurines hidden in a sugar cask on a ship years ago warrant such present attention by the Admiralty?”

“Because we are talking about a hoard of gold,” St. Clair said, “hidden in hundreds of casks, aboard multiple ships, over a period of years.”

“Captain St. Clair has been investigating a smuggling ring,” the admiral said, “one that has been using Royal Navy ships to transport gold from the West Indies to England. The thieves, unfortunately, include numerous naval officers and seamen, along with corrupt revenue men and private individuals.”

“And my cousin happened upon this?”

“Yes.” St. Clair came forward and stood behind an empty chair, resting his hands on its back. “Though at that time, we were just beginning to learn of it ourselves. I initially became aware of something illicit going on in the region during my first tour of the West Indies, when I was aboard the
Claudius
. On a voyage between Central America and Jamaica, I noticed that our waterline was higher than it should have been for the weight our ship was carrying—the weight written in the manifest, that is. Our cargo was heavier than what had been recorded, enough to make the ship sit lower in the water than it ought.”