“Well, now, you shall hear something that will surprise you.”
“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.”
“You monitor weight that closely?” Elizabeth asked.
“Weight and its distribution are serious matters on a vessel of any size. They affect balance, speed, and maneuvering,” St. Clair explained. “Yet when I brought the discrepancy to my captain’s attention, he dismissed it as an arithmetic error and said we were almost to port, so I should not concern myself about it. I left the matter alone as far as the captain knew, but I wondered whether what I had observed might be evidence of smuggling. This was not a great leap—the practice is widespread, and we had spent one night moored off an uninhabited part of the Costa Rican coast for reasons the captain never made altogether clear—but I had no idea what the contraband was, or who among the crew was involved. On that same voyage, we had one crewman kill another over a gold figurine that was obviously beyond the means of either of them to have purchased. The killer claimed they had found it, but never revealed where before he was hanged. At the time, I made no connexion between the incident and my smuggling suspicions.”
The faint sound of a baby’s cry drifted from the nursery. Mrs. Wentworth started and glanced at the closed door, but remained in the study while Mrs. Logan quieted her charge.
Captain St. Clair continued. “Our next port after Jamaica was the Bahamas.” He leaned over the table and identified the islands for them on the map. “There, I was able to meet with Admiral Croft, whom I had always respected and trusted when he was my captain. When I shared my suspicions about the weight discrepancy with him, he said he had received reports of other suspicious cargoes, officers, and ships, and asked if I would quietly investigate them. I was appointed to the Magna Carta, and have continued the investigation ever since.”
“Is not enforcement of excise laws the province of customs officials?” Darcy asked.
“Primarily,” said Admiral Croft, “and we have been working in cooperation with them. The Articles of War, however, forbid His Majesty’s officers from receiving and transporting goods aboard naval ships for personal gain. The Admiralty, therefore, has a strong interest in identifying and prosecuting any officers or seamen involved in such misconduct.”
Darcy looked up at Captain St. Clair. “So when my cousin came to you with the information that the cook had found gold idols in a sugar cask—”
“That is when I first started piecing together what was occurring. Since then, gathering information aboard other ships and from other sources, I have gained what I believe is a comprehensive understanding of the operation, and in the past several weeks most of the remaining questions have been answered. We need to identify just a few more individuals, and then we can move forward with arrests and seizures.”
“We want to perform them all at once,” Admiral Croft said, “so that the ringleaders do not have an opportunity to rally their forces. And frankly, until now the war has prevented the Admiralty from devoting more resources to the smuggling investigation. Now that Bonaparte is defeated, we can address other matters we had been forced to defer.”
“What we did not anticipate,” St. Clair resumed, “was that private investigations undertaken by Captain Wentworth and you, Mr. Darcy, would overlap our efforts and in some cases interfere with them, by inadvertently alerting certain suspects to the fact that someone is examining their activities more closely than a guilty person wants. They are becoming nervous—which can be beneficial, because nervous people make mistakes. At the same time, they are getting desperate, which makes them unpredictable.”
“You are speaking of my queries regarding my cousin’s death?”
“Yes, and of Captain Wentworth’s enquiries on behalf of Mrs. Smith.”
“Mrs. Smith?” Anne Wentworth exclaimed. “She barely has anything to live on. She cannot possibly be involved in smuggling.”
“In her case, it is because of the smuggling that she has nothing to live on,” the admiral said.
Mrs. Wentworth regarded him with confusion. “I do not understand.”
“Here is what we have learned,” St. Clair said. “Some years ago, a naval ship needing to replenish its supply of fresh water stopped along the coast of Central America and sent a landing party onto shore. Deep in the jungle, they discovered more than mere water—they came upon a cave full of gold, a forgotten Spanish treasure trove of ancient artifacts once seized from the natives. They kept the discovery secret from the rest of their shipmates, planning to go back and retrieve it. The fortunes of war being what they are, and greed being the corrupting force it is, most members of the original landing party have died for a variety of reasons, but the story survived and eventually found its way to the ears of someone with the connexions to do something about collecting the gold. Over the years—impeded by not only our wars with the Americans and French, but also the revolutions still sweeping Spanish America—the cache has gradually been moved to Jamaica. That is what the extra weight was on the Claudius—large amounts being transported at once, loaded under cover of darkness. From there it has begun to be smuggled in small quantities aboard Royal Navy ships and transported to England.”
“In sugar casks packed at Mr. Smith’s plantation,” Darcy finished.
“Precisely,” St. Clair said.
“The admiral, Captain St. Clair, and I discussed part of this before you arrived,” Wentworth said to Darcy. “Apparently, Smith’s plantation was being used as a middle stage even before his trip to Jamaica with Mr. Elliot. The business they conducted while there refined the procedure and strengthened relations with the people they relied upon to perform that end of the operation.”
“What happened after Mr. Smith’s death?”
“Nothing at all,” St. Clair said. “The business has continued to run as profitably as it ever did. The estate has not been sequestered—that is a lie Mr. Elliot told Mrs. Smith to maintain control over the plantation and see the transport of the entire cache through to completion. Meanwhile, he has been embezzling its legitimate profits, channeling most of them into the smuggling operation.”
“He has been stealing from a poor widow?” Mrs. Wentworth exclaimed.
“Not any longer,” Admiral Croft said. “Captain Wentworth’s sounding has made officials both here and in Spanish Town look more closely at the estate. It may be seized while an audit is conducted, but Frederick and I will make the revenue men see the injustice of her situation.”
“If the smugglers have so much gold, and most of Mrs. Smith’s money, why do they not simply build their own ship to transport it?” Elizabeth asked.
“Because the British Navy rules the waves.” Admiral Croft, whose slow pacing had taken him round the table several times in the course of their discussion, reached the empty chair beside Captain Wentworth and sat down.
“A private ship is more likely to be captured by an enemy vessel or privateer,” St. Clair said, “and those that do reach England are scrutinized by customs agents. Naval cargoes are subject to naval inspection—and we have identified plenty of dishonest workers paid to overlook violations—but nobody examines the personal possessions of naval officers.” He took the last remaining seat, beside Georgiana. “Now that the war is over, however, there are fewer naval ships crossing the ocean, and many of the corrupt personnel—from captains down—are no longer in a position to transport the gold. Also, the seas are safer than they were for merchant ships. So building a private trading vessel is precisely what our smugglers are doing at present.”
“The Black Cormorant,” Elizabeth said.
“You, Mrs. Darcy, may come work for me anytime,” said the admiral.
“No wonder Mr. Elliot wanted Captain Tourner as his ship’s master,” Elizabeth added. “Tourner had for years already been smuggling the contraband for him and his mysterious partner.”
Both St. Clair and the admiral regarded Elizabeth curiously. “How do you know about Mr. Elliot’s anonymous partner?” St. Clair asked.
“Mr. Darcy and I overheard the two of you talking. You were trying to persuade him to hire you, and asked to meet with his partner.”
St. Clair stared at her. “I thought he and I finished that conversation long before we met you and Mr. Darcy near the quay.”
Elizabeth looked at Darcy in rueful realization. She had just betrayed their discovery of the Cobb’s odd acoustical properties.
“You might as well tell them now,” Darcy said. “The knowledge could prove useful.”
Elizabeth described the whispering effect, which they all found astonishing.
“Well! If that is not the strangest thing I have heard this week, I do not know what is.” The admiral laughed and turned to St. Clair. “Instead of investigating the thieves, you could have just sat on the Cobb and waited for them to stroll along incriminating themselves.”
“That would certainly be easier than extricating information from Mr. Elliot.”
“Have you been able to determine the identity of his partner?” Darcy asked.
“I have long had my suspicions,” St. Clair said, “but they were confirmed two days ago on the Black Cormorant.” He paused, then looked at Georgiana. “It is Sir Laurence.”
“Sir Laurence?” she exclaimed, her astonishment echoed by all but the admiral. Darcy could hardly himself believe it, and for a moment thought St. Clair’s indictment was reciprocity for the baronet’s accusations against St. Clair. But then he recalled how well informed Sir Laurence had been about the merchant vessel on the day of its launch, how he had described it with such pride to Georgiana. Darcy had thought his sister’s suitor had wanted to impress her with his knowledge—now he realized the baronet had wanted to impress her with the ship itself.
Georgiana yet regarded St. Clair in disbelief. “That cannot be.”
“I am afraid it is, Miss Darcy. I am sorry—I know you consider him and his sister your friends. But I not only heard him discuss his ownership of the Black Cormorant with Captain Tourner—” St. Clair paused again, longer this time, his expression holding the regret of one about to give pain. “I saw him kill Tourner.”
“No!” She shook her head vehemently. “No—I know Sir Laurence. He could not possibly have committed such a wicked act.”
She looked to her brother with eyes that implored him to somehow refute St. Clair’s assertion. He would to heaven he could. Were it true, the baronet had sent Georgiana into Tourner’s cabin knowing the dead captain’s body was in the wardrobe—setting her up to make the discovery that would incriminate St. Clair. It was an act almost as unconscionable as the murder itself.
“How did you come to bear witness?” Darcy asked St. Clair.
“I went aboard earlier in the day, when the ship was still docked in the harbor, to talk to Tourner about coming on as first mate. The thought of serving under him again was abhorrent. I had originally—as you overheard, Mrs. Darcy—hoped to get hired on as the master, because I thought there would be a greater chance of direct contact with those at the highest level of the conspiracy; I had long suspected Sir Laurence was a party to the smuggling, but could never find any real evidence connecting him to it. Nearly everything goes through Mr. Elliot—Elliot is the middleman. But Mr. Elliot’s partner was determined to have Tourner, so my choices were serving as second-in-command or watching the ship sail off, taking with it the opportunity to finally complete this investigation.”
From the front of the house, the sound of a door opening indicated that Mrs. Smith’s chair bearers had arrived. St. Clair, however, ignored the noise and continued.
“I met with Tourner. He was quite full of himself—and not a little rum—and so condescending that I almost decided I would rather give up the investigation altogether than spend months sailing to Jamaica and back as his subordinate. Tourner said he would consider me. When we had done with our conversation, he could not trouble himself to see me off the ship, and I decided to have a covert look about. Tourner left his cabin for a while, and I sneaked back in to see what I could find. Unfortunately, Sir Laurence came aboard—so eager to see how his new ship handled now that she was fitted out enough for a run that he insisted Tourner take him on a test cruise.”
“If he goes to such trouble to distance himself from association with the smuggling, was he not concerned about the crew seeing him aboard?” Darcy asked.
“To them he was merely Tourner’s aristocratic friend, not the ship’s owner. Even so, that core crew is carefully chosen, every one of them a seaman who has worked on another ship the conspirators have used, who can be trusted to follow orders and keep his mouth shut.”
As St. Clair spoke, Georgiana rose and walked away from the table. Doubtless, what the captain was about to describe would be painful for her to hear, and Darcy could not blame her for wanting to listen from a place where her countenance could not be observed by everyone in the room. St. Clair’s concerned gaze followed her until she reached the window and looked upon the sea, her back to them all.
He returned his attention to those at the table and continued. “During the cruise, Sir Laurence was on deck with Tourner, but as the ship headed back it came to a stop not far from the Cobb. As the anchors lowered, I heard Sir Laurence and Tourner coming into Tourner’s cabin, so I hid in his cot, drew closed the bed curtains, and lay still. I dared not shift enough to peer through the curtains; as you saw, the cot is suspended, and I feared any movement would draw notice.
“They shared a drink in celebration of the ship’s performance. The bottle poured more after that—I know not how many times for each of them, but I expect the balance listed to one side—and Tourner’s speech became less guarded. ‘We will be able to move the gold in greater quantities now,’ he said. ‘That should please you. I could see in your face when you first laid eyes upon it that you wanted to get it to England in all haste.’ Sir Laurence made no reply. Tourner continued, saying that Mr. Elliot had told him everything was arranged with their friends among the preventive men. Sir Laurence confirmed that Tourner should encounter no trouble from the revenue authorities upon his return, and enquired how soon the Black Cormorant could set sail.
“Tourner said that the ship was nearly fitted out. The guns were to be installed the following day; all she needed was the rest of her crew. He then put my name forward for his mate. Sir Laurence rejected me irrefutably. Tourner declared that, as master, the Black Cormorant was his ship and he should be able to choose whomever he wanted. Sir Laurence said no, the Black Cormorant was his ship, and the argument escalated from there.”
Though it was warm in the study, Georgiana crossed her arms in front of her and rubbed her hands against them as if cold. She continued to stand facing the window, but stole surreptitious glances at St. Clair.
“Tourner was a man emboldened by liquor,” St. Clair said. “In my days as his second, half my job while preparing for battle was privately monitoring his consumption so I knew what to anticipate during the action. He took offense at Sir Laurence’s manner—he was a senior captain in His Majesty’s navy, by God, deserving of respect. Then he reminded Sir Laurence how long he had been part of their ‘private business’—and of how much he knew.
“They were not loud; in fact, Sir Laurence’s anger was icy. They were engaged so intensely with each other, however, that I slowly shifted enough to peek through a crevice in the bed curtains. Sir Laurence’s back was to me. He picked up the empty bottle from the table and pretended to examine it. ‘If you indeed know so much about my business,’ he said, ‘then you know that I cannot afford a ship’s master unable to hold his liquor—or his tongue.’ Then he took the bottle and struck Tourner in the head.”
“Tourner fell. Sir Laurence stepped around the body and went to the window—I suppose to see whether he might be able to simply drop Tourner overboard without being observed. I took advantage of this opportunity to lie back down so as to ensure my own presence remained unknown. I heard Sir Laurence utter an oath, then sounds of him opening the wardrobe and moving the body.”
The horror Darcy experienced as he listened to St. Clair’s narrative derived not from Tourner’s death—the corrupt captain bore some responsibility for his own fate—but from the knowledge that the person who had so dispassionately taken Tourner’s life was the very man to whom he had been willing to entrust Georgiana’s. He had failed in his duty to protect his sister, and her stricken expression as she now stared at St. Clair pricked him with guilt. Thankfully, though St. Clair noticed that Darcy’s gaze was upon Georgiana, he did not turn round to observe the effect of his revelations upon her. Instead, he continued his tale at a point that no longer focused on the baronet.
“At last, Sir Laurence left,” he said, “and I heard one of the boats being lowered. I looked out the window to see how busy the quay was—and that is when I realized we were not in the harbor, but anchored outside of it. I was trapped on a ship I was not supposed to be on, in a room with the corpse of the only person aboard, to my knowledge, with the authority and skills to navigate the vessel back into the harbor so I could disembark.
“I decided that my best chance of escape lay in waiting for low tide at night, lowering myself down the side of the ship, and swimming for shore. As time passed, however, the water became choppier. I was looking out the window, reconsidering my plan, when your boat neared, heading toward port. A breaker was coming toward you, and I thought at first the wave was going to drive you into the side of the ship, but then the boat capsized altogether. I saw you all get tossed into the water, Miss Darcy farther away than the others. You know the rest from there. I stripped off my coat and shoes, and dove.”
“Realizing that to do so would expose to Sir Laurence your presence on the ship—in the very cabin where he had left Tourner’s body?” Darcy asked.
“You would never have been able to find Miss Darcy—not in time, not with two other ladies also needing assistance.”
Georgiana regarded him in quiet contemplation. “You compromised your investigation—more than three years’ work—to save me?”
St. Clair turned then, to face her. Darcy could no longer see the young captain’s expression.
“How could I not?”
The admiral regarded his protégé with esteem, but also resignation. “It was an honorable act, and when Captain St. Clair informed me of it, I said I would have expected no less of him. From a tactical standpoint, however, our line has been cut. Whether Sir Laurence believes St. Clair acted independently in boarding the ship—a mere out-of-work sea officer seeking employment—or realizes he had official motives, we have lost any chance he had of gaining the baronet’s trust. We now must take a different tack.”
St. Clair turned to Darcy. “We need to apprehend as many of the conspirators as possible so that all the work done to this point is not lost. Therefore, I would like to see Lieutenant Fitzwilliam’s diary, in hopes that it will provide evidence.”
Darcy handed the journal to St. Clair. “There are but two passages pertaining specifically to the artifacts.”
“I am interested in everything your cousin observed from the time he joined the Magna Carta.”
As Captain St. Clair opened the volume, Georgiana returned to her seat and leaned toward Darcy. “May I see the gold figurine?” she whispered.
He withdrew the pendant from his pocket and gave it to her. She frowned upon first receiving it. Indeed, it was not the sort of objet d’art that he expected would appeal to a young lady whose taste ran toward more classical images. She traced its lines with a fingertip, her expression troubled.
St. Clair, meanwhile, commenced reading. He skimmed quickly, pausing to offer an occasional explanation or remark. “Lieutenant Wilton—it was he who oversaw the loading of the contraband sugar casks onto the ship. They were all supposed to go to the captain’s private stores, but one of them accidentally wound up among our mess’s provisions.…” He nodded. “Yes, Tourner never initiated engagements when he had contraband aboard—I think he feared discovery if he lost and the ship was seized.…” A few pages later: “I would much rather have dined with my own mess than accept Tourner’s invitations. But Mr. Smith’s rum had the favorable effect of loosening Tourner’s lips, and when we were alone he would boast of the fortune upon which he would retire. Occasionally he would mutter hints that the fortune did not consist entirely of prize money, and I would ply him for particulars.”
When he neared the end of the diary, he said Musgrove’s name aloud. “I had your cousin to thank for that lead, Mr. Darcy, as I never ordered an inventory. Musgrove was an accessory to the conspiracy, though his was a minor role. He was simply not clever enough to be entrusted with much responsibility or information.”
“How did he die?” Anne Wentworth asked.
“He was impaled by a large splinter of the hull when a cannonball struck the ship. It was probably the most glorious moment of an otherwise unambitious career.”
St. Clair returned his attention to the diary, his eyes moving more slowly over the final entry. “He told me of only one idol,” he said. “He must not have trusted me—not completely—and withheld the other to offer as evidence to someone else if I failed to act.” He released a heavy breath and looked at Darcy. “Indeed, his caution was warranted, for he was surrounded by conspirators, and I could just as well have been one of them. At the time of my last conversation with him, even I could not guess the extent of the larger plot he and Hart had happened upon.”
Darcy at last voiced the question he had been wanting to ask since this discussion began—indeed, since he had first read the page to which the journal in St. Clair’s hands was now turned. “Did Gerard die as a result of it?”
“As a result of the scheme, or of my ignorance?” St. Clair closed the diary but did not hand it back to Darcy. His face held regret. “Both, I believe. When he came to me with news of the discovery, I needed time to ponder what it meant, and to determine how to proceed. I knew enough of Tourner’s character to distrust the captain, so I discouraged Lieutenant Fitzwilliam from reporting the incident to him. However, as we now know, there were others aboard who were also part of the conspiracy, and I did not consider that the conversation between your cousin and Hart might have been overheard.”
“By whom?” Darcy asked.
“Lieutenant Wilton’s cabin adjoined Lieutenant Fitzwilliam’s, and canvas walls are hardly soundproof.”
A weight settled on Darcy’s chest. “Did Lieutenant Wilton shoot my cousin during the battle?”
“No. But I believe he reported the conversation between Hart and Lieutenant Fitzwilliam to the captain, for I saw him go into Tourner’s cabin just before your cousin came to me about the figurine. I thought nothing of it at the time, because there were any number of official matters about which he might have needed to inform the captain, even though Tourner was entertaining Mr. Elliot and the others. But after the battle with the Dangereuse, as I began to amass more information and realized Wilton was in collusion with the conspirators, I suspected he had told Tourner that Lieutenant Fitzwilliam had become aware of their illegal commerce. And that Tourner’s guests also learned that Fitzwilliam had knowledge of it.”
“What led you to that conclusion?” Darcy asked.
“When the Dangereuse retreated, she was forced to leave behind some of her boarding party, who became our prisoners. One of them, an officer, told me just before we turned them over to the British authorities that he had seen Lieutenant Fitzwilliam shot by a civilian gentleman aboard.”
“Which gentleman?”
“His words were veiled, but he said he had been shocked to witness a future baronet shoot one of His Majesty’s officers.”
Though Darcy had sought the truth about Gerard’s death, when it came, he was unprepared for the cold sickness that spread through him. “Can this Frenchman’s word be trusted?”
“Had he told me immediately, or during the time he was in our custody, I might have thought he was lying in an attempt to use the information in exchange for better treatment. But based upon his timing—when he had nothing to gain for telling me—and upon the honorable conduct I observed in him during his captivity, I believed him. I have since learned that he is a secret Royalist, with connexions to both the French and English aristocracy.”
“Was he acquainted with Mr. Elliot?” Elizabeth asked. “Is that how the prisoner knew he was a future baronet?”
“If he was, he never let on to that fact during his captivity. Even so, Captain Tourner continued to entertain Mr. Elliot and his companions in the weeks after the prisoners were taken, so I imagine the French officer overheard some of our men talking about the gentlemen and learned more about them that way.” St. Clair paused. “Mr. Elliot, however, was not the only future baronet aboard the Magna Carta on the day your cousin died.”
“Who was the other?” Darcy asked.
Georgiana’s hand closed round the pendant she yet held. “Sir Laurence.”