The Curse of Land's End

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by Rose Lorimer

“I am not sure. Elizabeth is still—”

  “William,” I interrupted, squeezing his hand. “Do not worry about me. I am well. Do what you must. Besides, Charlotte, Jane and I have a lot to talk. It is likely I will not even know you are gone.” I gave him my most charming smile, gaining a serious frown in return.

  William nodded and raised my hand to his lips, lingering there a little longer than necessary. “As you wish,” he said, giving Jane and Charlotte a meaningful glare before leaving.

  The men were not yet inches out the door when we all giggled.

  “Now that the men are gone, tell me everything about this adventure of yours, Lizzy,” Charlotte said, looking over her shoulders. “And especially about Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

  Chapter 27

  Darcy

  The feeling of Elizabeth’s hand kept my lips tingling. Her teases, giggles and naughty eyes smiling at me when we left, or the way she was looking at me when I woke up that morning were driving me crazy!

  If she only knew what she was doing to me—

  “What do you think of her?” Richard asked.

  I blinked and looked back at him with a deep frown. “I think she is taking a great deal of pleasure in torturing me.”

  He stopped. “What are you talking about, Darcy? The lady just arrived.”

  “What? Who are you talking about?”

  “Miss Lucas, of course. Who else could I— Ah! I see. Marital problems already. Sorry, cousin. I cannot help you— Hey!”

  I grabbed Richard by the lapel of his greatcoat and lifted him up. He might be older and stronger but I was taller. “Not. In. The. Mood.” I dropped him and resumed my way to the stables. “Let us find Mr Pascoe and see if he has any information about those ‘ghosts’. I need to punch something. Perhaps I can use this energy to bring some criminals to justice and stop them from doing the same thing to others that they did to Elizabeth.”

  Richard stopped, laughing. “I asked you what you think of Miss Lucas, but seeing what marriage can do to a man, I think I will reconsider my interest.”

  I turned and gave him my most fearful glare.

  “However,” he said sobering, approaching me, “despite your marital problems, I will be forever grateful to Miss Eli—, I mean, Mrs Darcy, for bringing back my cousin and old friend. A man with hot blood, passion and determination to do the right thing. I am sorry for your more than expected frustration during your honeymoon, but I am thrilled to see you denying yourself for love, not guilt.”

  His words gave me pause, and I frowned at him.

  “You just grabbed my lapel and shook me, man! When was the last time you have done such a thing? I have been provoking you for months, desperately trying to get a reaction or any sign of life from you, but the only thing I receive is a privileged view of a large back attached to sagging shoulders.” He grabbed my shoulders, pulling me close. “Thank God for your temper, Darcy. It means you are back. Your time of sorrow is over, gone, not just from your heart but also from your conscience. You are free again.”

  I looked into Richard’s eyes as mine began to fill with moisture as his words sank into my mind.

  He is right.

  For some time now, my torment had been fighting my desire for Elizabeth, not the sleepless nights filled with nightmares or a guilt so deep I could barely breathe. I was free. And all that because of the love of a woman who had seen beyond the thick walls of my feigned indifference; a woman who had seen the man I always was.

  The man I will be again.

  I hugged Richard. “Thank you, for never giving up on me. I will be forever grateful for your undeniable support and… your constant annoyance.”

  Richard laughed, slapping my back as we resumed our walk. “Do not thank me, Darcy. In some moments it has been a pleasure, actually.”

  Good Lord! The man was incorrigible.

  ***

  Going down the alley towards Mr Pascoe’s cottage, the sight of a carriage pulling out surprised us. Mr Pascoe, who was walking back down the street that leads from his address to the port area, also seemed surprised. He hastened his steps and greeted the gentleman coming out. Whatever he was saying, part of it was lost in the distance. “… yes, some unpleasant business detained me at the port… in the water… no… the poor man did not survive…”

  The life of a magistrate. I shivered, uncomfortable.

  As we approached, the sound of our horses alerted the men to our approach. Mr Pascoe’s reaction was not what I was expecting, though. For a brief moment, he seemed… relieved.

  “Mr Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, how providential,” he said, as we dismounted.

  I looked back at Richard to whisper my impression, but his eyes were on the visitor, a large smile opening on his face. “O’Connell! Is that you, your old wolf? Good Heavens! What are you doing here?”

  “Fitzwilliam,” the stranger said with a clipped voice, giving him a quick bow. “Please come in. We have much to discuss.” He turned to me. “You too, sir, if you please.”

  As quickly as it appeared, Richard’s smile was gone. He stopped and pursed his lips, his gaze switching between the man and Mr Pascoe, as the latter called a boy. “Timmy, take good care of these horses. There will be a coin waiting for you later.”

  As the boy took both our reigns, I shuddered. Who was this man?

  Once inside the house, the visitor approached Richard with a serious expression. “Fitzwilliam.”

  “O’Connell,” Richard replied in the same tone, his early enthusiasm now changed into a frown and tense lips.

  The man came closer, examining Richard as a doctor would examine a terminal patient. “Years have not been good to you. You look terrible.”

  Richard narrowed his eyes. “Says who? The man who is losing his hair? I am surprised you are not already wearing a wig.”

  They stared at each other and with no warning both burst into a wild peal of laugher.

  I startled and looked at them confused.

  “A wig, Fitz? You do not know me well enough if you believe that.”

  “Or perhaps I know you enough to say the right thing to… strike a nerve? Man! It is good to see you!”

  They laughed more, exchanging affable hugs.

  I looked at Mr Pascoe and the usually enigmatic man was expressing exactly the same shock I was.

  Richard and this who-ever-he-was must have remembered they had company for they turned to us apologising.

  “I am sorry for the performance, Fitz. But I could not help myself. Now, this must be your cousin.”

  “Yes. Darcy, this is Marcus O’Connell, the former Brigadier in my battalion. The last time we fought together was in Salamanca, Spain, two years ago. O’Connell was gravely wounded in the leg and sent home, commended for bravery. That battle was decisive to guarantee England’s freedom against Boney. He is now a respected detective for the London Magistrate’s Court.”

  “A pleasure, Mr Darcy. I have heard quite a lot about you. And I could have told you my story without so much flourish. I can see your cousin is still the soft-hearted man he ever was.” Turning to Richard, he added, “And, congratulations yourself. Toulouse was a bloody battle, but also the last push for Boney’s fall. Well done. I am happy you have kept all your limbs.”

  “Well, I might not have lost a limb, but part of my flesh is still in that field. As part of yours remains in Salamanca. How is your leg?”

  “Good enough to walk and ride for a short period. I consider myself a fortunate man for surviving that carnage and the fever that followed. It could have been much worse, you know. But I was concerned for you, Fitz. After receiving your letters about your leave and later learning you have sold your commission, I feared you had damaged your arm permanently.”

  “Thank God, the injury was not so bad after all. I just needed rest. As you can see, my arm is fully recovered now. Darcy,” Richard said, moving his injured arm and turning to me, “O’Connell is the Runner who helped us to send Wickham to the debtor’s prison.”

>   Ah! Things are fitting into their right places at last.

  Mr O’Connell turned to me. “I was glad to help. And how is the miscreant doing?”

  I lowered my head. “He… died last month. An unfortunate quarrel over cards, they informed me.”

  Mr O’Connell’s expression turned serious. “I am sorry to hear that, Mr Darcy. After all Fitzwilliam had told me, I knew you were never comfortable with the outcome.”

  “But, O’Connell, what brings you to Cornwall?” Richard asked, sensible to my recent struggles, glancing suspiciously at Mr Pascoe as we sat.

  “They sent me to find out more about an intricate business regarding the smuggling of gems in this part of the country.”

  Mrs Pascoe entered the room carrying a tray with tea and biscuits.

  Would I ever stop asking what the hell is going on here in Cornwall?

  Chapter 28

  Elizabeth

  “I am not sure what to think, Lizzy. This is more than extraordinary,” Charlotte said once I gave her my side of the latest events. “But above all, I am not sure if I can forgive you for marrying such a gorgeous man. Mr Darcy is second only to Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she said, her eyes shining with mischief.

  Regarding handsome men, Charlotte could be very similar to Lydia. A uniform could cover a multitude of flaws and overvalue the virtues. In Colonel Fitzwilliam’s case, he did not even need to use his regimental for that; Charlotte’s imagination would take care of it. But regarding the art of flirting, there was a significant difference between Charlotte and Lydia. Contrary to Lydia’s youth and careless behaviour, Charlotte’s maturity and intelligence always meant a more discreet and extremely wittier approach. Unfortunately, not all men appreciated it, hence her single status at the moment.

  “It is all Jane’s fault,” I said, pointing to my sister. “She was the one who started this succession of events with her marriage to Charles.” I gave Charlotte a detailed report of the last month, since the day I had met William at his house to that morning experience of waking up beside an Olympus representative on earth. “Now, about the colonel… he is single, uncommitted and, if I am not mistaken, in search of a wife. William told me he has inherited a large estate in Kent.”

  Charlotte laughed. “I know. He said as much yesterday. Obviously, not so explicitly as you are saying now. Truth is, I have known the colonel for less than two days, but would not refuse a request for a courtship if he is interested. He is a fascinating man, and with an estate in Kent, his charms have just increased trifold!”

  We all shared good teasing and laughter. How much sillier could we be? I could always count on Jane’s unconditional love and support, but Charlotte had always been my accomplice in matters of admiring the opposite sex — and some of the frustrations that followed it.

  Thank God, no more.

  Mrs Nancarrow knocked on the door and entered, her manners agitated. “Mrs Bingley, a message for ye.”

  Jane read the short missive and brought a hand to her mouth, breaking into sobs.

  “Jane! What is it?” I asked, sitting beside her and taking her hand. Had she not been seated, she would have collapsed as all colour drained from her face.

  “I-it is Charles, Lizzy! H-He is g-gone!”

  Chapter 29

  Darcy

  O’Connell sipped from his cup and relaxed on his chair. “Yes, gentlemen. Gems. But listen to this. In 1801, after England defeated France in Egypt, most of their archaeological discoveries were seized by our army. If you followed the news from that time, you must have heard that among those artefacts was the Rosetta Stone. The British Museum said it had an incalculable historical value and did not waste any time bringing it to England — along with some other things of questionable origin. I believe that this particular act created a rumour that the British Museum would buy historical artefacts with little questioning. Imagine how this kind of news must have reached other smugglers around the world. Now combine this story with opportunistic minds, and you will have what is happening now. Tell them, Pascoe. He is the one who came up with this theory. He has been investigating these criminals for years. When he heard what had happened to you, Mr Darcy, he sent us a letter detailing everything — of course, without mentioning your name. The London Magistrate did not think twice, and that is why I am here now.”

  Richard and I looked at Mr Pascoe — I with a newfound respect. His usual enigmatic expression was replaced by a more serious one. “Gentlemen, unfortunately, what you heard is more than just a theory. Mr Darcy, your ill-fated visit to Land’s End provided me the perfect excuse to visit that part of the coast again. In my searching, I found something very interesting. Let me show you.”

  He went to another room and returned with a large box in his hands. The sight of the objects inside triggered my memory. “I have seen something like this before. Twice, in fact. Remember, Richard, on the second day of our travelling? We stopped at an inn with a very large window facing west.”

  Richard looked at me and muttered, “How could I forget? You were in your devil’s mood that day.”

  I ignored him. “I was observing the sunset and noticed two men in a heated discussion. They began to push each other and when one of them fell something similar to this,” I said, pointing at the object in Mr Pascoe’s hand, “rolled from his bag. What is it?”

  Mr Pascoe took a deep breath and looked at me. “What does it seem to be?”

  I noticed Richard and Mr O’Connell’s attentive eyes on me.

  “It seems like a clay vase. And a very ordinary one, if I may add,” I replied.

  Mr Pascoe’s lips curved. “You are correct, Mr Darcy. But why do you think that?” At my shrug he continued, “Because you are a rich man, used to admiring and possessing fine pieces of art, you are naturally prejudiced against an ordinary piece like this one. But the truth is, most people are, not just the rich ones. Smuggling art, therefore, is not a good option because fine art is easily recognisable. But how would you react if I told you this is a Babylonian jar? From the times of the prophet Daniel from the bible and is worth a good dozen pounds, if not more?”

  I frowned. “I would find it hard to believe. How can you be sure of it?” I asked, giving the old vase another critical look.

  “You are correct again, Mr Darcy. But as it happens, this is a Babylonian jar and indeed is worth twenty-four pounds. Now, have a look at this one,” he said, giving me another vase. “What do you think?”

  I took the second vase and gave it a much more thorough appraisal. “This vase is in the same condition of the first one, so I would say it is also legitimate.”

  He put the second vase on the table and grabbed the first one. “Look what happens when I do this.” He dropped the vase on the floor.

  The three of us gasped in surprise, our eyes stopping on Mr Pascoe’s satisfied face. “Mr O’Connell, would you mind?” Mr Pascoe asked smugly, pointing to the shattered pieces. We leaned forward. To our utter surprise, there was something else there.

  Mr O’Connell grabbed the small parcel and opened it. Inside, there were some small, coloured rocks. He brought one to his mouth and licked it, revealing its intense green colour. “An emerald?”

  “Yes, gentlemen. Emeralds, diamonds, silver and gold, straight from the depths of the South American jungles to England. And Mr Darcy was correct in his first assertion. The first vase was a fake, but because he does not have enough knowledge of antiquities, he had no option but to believe my word. This second vase, an original Babylonian one, has just arrived, brought by Mr O’Connell at my request to the British Museum. This first vase was taken from a cargo which arrived yesterday morning. One of my undercover men almost lost his life to get it to me. That is what has been happening around here, gentlemen. Hundreds of fake artefacts are sharing crates with some dozens of real ones. Who can distinguish them? However, when supposedly shipped to the British Museum in London, all of those filled with the gems find a different destination.”

  Mr O’Connell tur
ned to me. “You said you have seen this kind of vase twice. Where was the second place?”

  “At the house, in Land’s End. The drawing room’s floor was covered with shattered pieces.”

  Richard leaned back on his chair and whistled. “Is that the reason for all this… curse? To create a diversion and smuggle the stones into the country?”

  “The word diversion is the perfect one, Colonel. A curtain of smoke,” Mr Pascoe said, his eyes sombre. “Once the wind takes it away, there is no way to prove it ever existed. Unfortunately, you are right. That is not all. The money raised selling those stones is being accumulated to raise Napoleon’s army. The man has abdicated his throne, but he does not intend to remain as a commoner.”

  “Who would do such a thing, Pascoe?” Mr O’Connell asked stunned.

  Mr Pascoe’s lips turned into a thin line. “I have no proof, but I believe their final destination has been the Gazabar family.”

  We all gasped. The Italian Gazabar family had spread their powerful roots all around Europe. Here in England, they probably had more money than the Prince Regent himself.

  “Why would such a rich family be involved with Napoleon?” I asked.

  “Is it not the scripture which declares, ‘For the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil’, gentlemen?” Mr Pascoe continued. “Imagine having a tyrant as Napoleon at your mercy? They do not crave money, gentlemen; they crave power. For now, Napoleon only needs to retreat and wait, knowing that in the right time he will return. I have a friend in Oxford who presented me an interesting theory about the Gazabars, but we were never able to prove it. Apparently, the family has been gathering money and secretly supporting warfare all around Europe, asking only for a debt of honour. If that is the case, they also have a fantastic team erasing their steps. Nobody has ever been able to prove anything against them.” Mr Pascoe’s enthusiasm lost some steam as he sank into his armchair. “And that, gentlemen, is the furthest I have gone with my investigation. I suspect neither the Gazabars nor the French know what to do yet. It is now a matter of playing patience. But I would not be surprised to hear from Napoleon very soon.”

 

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