They were sick with horror.
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.”