Lord of the Privateers

by Stephanie Laurens

  Royd stilled. “Is that so?”

  Babington nodded. “They don’t seem to be friends but behave like business associates. The story they tried to put about was that they’re merely interested in looking around the settlement, getting in some game-hunting, some fishing, that sort of thing... A poorly thought-out excuse, because if that was true, why come to a place like this? Macauley knows of both men—apparently, they’re extremely well connected politically and socially and also very wealthy. Both are known as investors, although neither dabbles in anything so crude as business.” Babington paused to sip, then continued, “Over the port, Macauley pressed—he wanted to know what the pair was about. After hemming and hawing, Neill said they were considering investing in a scheme to develop suitable areas for housing and were looking to get in ahead of the rush—to get agreements over the best areas before they were snapped up.”

  Royd frowned. “Is there any rush? This seems an unlikely region for any major expansion.”

  “That was where things got interesting, for Holbrook was at the dinner, too, and he hadn’t heard any whisper of such a thing. Nor had Macauley or anyone else—there were several captains of local industry present. But Ross-Courtney tapped the side of his nose and murmured to Neill that he really shouldn’t have told... After that, of course, everyone was falling over themselves to be helpful. However, the critical upshot was that, out of all the offers of assistance made, Ross-Courtney and Neill accepted Holbrook’s offer to allow his principal aide, a Mr. Arnold Satterly, who happens to be a connection of Ross-Courtney’s, leave to escort Ross-Courtney and Neill on what they described as a perambulation-cum-safari through the jungles surrounding the settlement.”

  Isobel straightened.

  Royd exchanged a glance with her, then met Babington’s gaze. “This interests me greatly. As well as rescuing the captives, I’ve been charged with gathering all possible evidence to expose and convict those behind the scheme.”

  Babington nodded. “I hoped that might be so.” He drained his glass.

  “So,” Isobel said, “we have this Satterly person, who is Holbrook’s senior aide and also a connection of this wealthy lordling, and he’s to lead this pair of gentlemen, who’ve arrived in the settlement unheralded and with no known motive, into the jungle.” She caught Royd’s gaze and arched her brows. “Dare we leap to the conclusion that Satterly is the instigator from the governor’s office, and Ross-Courtney and Neill are two of the London-based backers?”

  Royd grimaced. “That’s more than tempting. However, while I agree with your reasoning, I’m finding it difficult to credit that two such highly placed gentlemen—who, if they were backers, would surely understand the dangers of being identified as connected with such an enterprise—would take the risk of appearing at the site. If just one person—like Hillsythe—sees them and then escapes, they’re done for.”

  “Hmm.” Isobel tilted her head one way, then the other. “I don’t know... If they’re supremely confident that no one in authority has even noticed the enterprise, much less is focused on it—and you’ve all been to such pains to maintain that fiction—then I’ve certainly met men arrogant enough to assume all will continue to fall their way.” She met Royd’s eyes. “And of course, they’re assuming that the captives won’t live to bear witness against them.”

  Royd held her gaze for several seconds, then said, “What worries me is what the real reason for them arriving now might be. Are they, perhaps, getting nervous enough to want to determine for themselves how much more value might be extracted from the mine before making a decision to close it down—and as they would see it, ending all risk to themselves?”

  She thought for a second, then pulled a face.

  After several moments’ unsettled silence, Babington set down his glass. “You were going to tell me what you need me to do. Just say and consider it done.”

  Royd nodded. “First, you’ll no doubt have noticed the blockade of the estuary.”

  Babington laughed hollowly. “Noticed? Even though we have no ships in port and are not expecting any until later this week, Macauley nearly had an apoplexy. He sent messages to the Office of the Naval Attaché, but with Muldoon gone, there’s no one there willing to take responsibility, and the three juniors say they’ve been told it’s an exercise.”

  “That’s the story Decker decided to put about. In reality, he’s sealed the estuary to all shipping to ensure no messages travel between London and the settlement and mine. If possible, keep Macauley off Decker’s back—not that he’s going to be able to reach him. His flagship is in the line.”

  “Wise man.” Babington thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I’ll tell Macauley I’ve heard whispers that while the blockade is—at this point—an exercise, there might be a bigger threat in the offing, and Decker is taking potentially preemptive action.” Babington threw Royd a glance. “Macauley’s paranoid about pirates and other nations’ privateers.”

  Royd grinned appreciatively. “That will do nicely. As for the rest...” He outlined the steps he expected Robert and Declan to take once they arrived in the settlement. “They would appreciate your input. I’ll tell them to call on you as soon as they arrive so they don’t waste time casting around in the wrong direction.”

  Babington nodded. “I’ll post a boy on the docks to let me know when they sail in. Will they be coming in as themselves, so to speak?”

  “Yes.” Royd pushed out of his chair. “The Corsair is currently The Pelican, but we’ll lose the disguise once we sail on. I’m expecting Declan, at least, later tonight—Robert shouldn’t be far behind.”

  He offered his hand to Isobel; she took it, and he drew her to her feet. “We should get going.”

  Babington walked with them to the door and held it open. Isobel walked onto the landing. Royd stepped through the doorway—and as if Babington could no longer hold back the question, he asked, “How long do you think it’ll be before the captives are freed?”

  The fear in Babington’s voice—fear of loss, of not succeeding in saving his Mary—rang clearly in Royd’s ears. He glanced back and met Babington’s eyes—haunted and hopeful at the same time—and answered conservatively, but truthfully. “My best guess is within a week.”

  Relief, combined with a wariness over believing, etched Babington’s features.

  Royd inclined his head and followed Isobel down the steps.

  * * *

  It was just past midnight when The Cormorant, currently the second-fastest ship in the Frobisher fleet, slipped through the cordon of navy vessels and, minutes later, changed tack to come alongside The Corsair.

  Isobel hadn’t gone deck to deck on a rope for more than a decade. Once again in her breeches, she bit back a squeal—not of fear but of giddy exhilaration—as she swung and dipped across the gap between the ships.

  It was dangerous, but so much fun.

  She landed on the deck of The Cormorant and, laughing, stepped out of the foot loop and released the main rope.

  Declan, who’d been waiting to steady her if needed, sent her a look of resigned frustration. As she moved past him, he murmured, “You are going to be a terrible influence on Edwina.”

  Which made Isobel laugh again.

  Edwina was waiting to greet her on the stern deck. Isobel swung up the ladder, then grinned when she saw Edwina’s outfit.

  The petite woman twirled. “What do you think?”

  “That if the modistes in London could see you now, you would set a new fashion, at least for those ladies in an interesting condition.”

  Edwina sported loose-fitting breeches and well-worn riding boots, plus a voluminous peasant shirt that did an excellent job of concealing her expanding girth, rather than calling attention to it.

  “It also lets in so much more air.” Edwina fanned the hem of the shirt. “I’d forgotten how hot it gets here.�
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  Movement on the main deck caught Edwina’s eye, and she leaned on the forward rail to call down to her husband, who had now been joined by Royd, “Why don’t you gentlemen come up here? That way, you’ll only have to tell your story once.”

  The hidden threat in the words wasn’t lost on Royd or Declan. Isobel swallowed another laugh as they exchanged looks, then walked to the ladder.

  Royd came up first. When he saw Edwina, he grinned, but immediately wiped the expression from his face and, as Declan joined them, favored her with a simple nod. “Edwina. How was the trip down?”

  “Quick and easy.” She smiled approvingly on Royd, then arched her brows at both him and her husband. “So what happens next?”

  Royd dutifully reported what they’d learned from Babington.

  Isobel cut in to say that they’d confirmed for Babington that Mary Wilson was among the captives and, as far as they knew, still well.

  Edwina tsked. “The poor man must have been quite frantic.”

  “I don’t know about frantic”—Royd glanced at Declan—“but he’s keen to offer all assistance to you and Robert and to accompany you to the compound.”

  Declan nodded. “Another sword—especially a motivated one—won’t go amiss.”

  “Indeed. And he knows who’s who in the settlement better than any other source.”

  “So what else did he say?” Declan asked.

  Royd had already mentioned the disappearance of Muldoon and Winton. He went on to describe the two unexpected visitors who had recently arrived—

  “Good gracious!” Edwina looked stunned. “Lord Peter and Mr. Neill?”

  Royd’s gaze sharpened. “You know them?”

  “Not personally but in a social sense. Lord Peter is one of the king’s closest confidantes. He’s a Gentleman of the Bedchamber and a duke’s son. He moves in the highest circles, but he’s a bachelor and largely keeps to his clubs and the company of his own sex. On the few occasions I’ve met him, he struck me as the arrogant sort who believes he’s better than virtually everyone else. As for Frederick Neill, he’s a scion of a noble house, but a lesser branch, obviously. Nevertheless, he’s parlayed his birth into two very advantageous marriages. His current wife spends her days in the country, as did the late Mrs. Frederick Neill. Although I believe the Neills entertain in a quiet manner in county circles, they do not socialize in London.” Edwina frowned, head tilting as, patently, she scoured her memory. “Both men are wealthy. Neill, especially, is known as an investor. But both are also known to spend lavishly and be...well, forever on the lookout for ways to amass more wealth.”

  “So they’re greedy?” Royd asked.

  Edwina pulled a face. “Yes, but it’s well-concealed greed. Both men value their social positions exceedingly highly, so...” Her eyes widened.

  “So,” Isobel said, picking up Edwina’s train of thought, “while they might well be the sort to finance a slave-worked diamond mine, they are also the sort to make certain that their association with said illicit and highly illegal mine remains forever concealed.” She looked at Royd. “You were right—that is why they’re here. To assess how much longer to keep the mine operating.”

  “They’re heading for the mine?” Declan asked.

  “We can’t yet be sure of that.” Royd frowned, then he quickly outlined all Babington had told them about Ross-Courtney, Neill, and the interesting connection between Ross-Courtney and Holbrook’s principal aide.

  “Satterly,” Edwina said. “I remember him. He showed us in to see Holbrook, remember?”

  Declan nodded. His jaw set. “He must be the one in Holbrook’s office.”

  “Most likely,” Royd conceded. “But we still need to tread warily.” He paused, his gaze unfocused as he juggled possibilities, then he looked at Declan. “Regardless of what we believe about Satterly, Ross-Courtney, and Neill, as far as I’m concerned, the captives’ safety comes first.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me.” Declan glanced at Edwina and Isobel. “From any of us.”

  “However”—Isobel planted her hands on her hips—“I would really hate to see any of the backers slip through our fingers.”

  “If we can trap them at the same time as we free the captives,” Edwina said, “that would be the best of all outcomes.”

  Royd grimaced. “I agree, but experience has taught me we rarely end with the best of all outcomes. However, let’s see how far we can go in giving Satterly, Ross-Courtney, and Neill rope with which to fashion their own nooses.”

  “In this case, literally,” Declan growled.

  Royd dipped his head. “Indeed. So here’s what we’re going to do.”

  Isobel folded her arms and, along with Declan and Edwina, listened as Royd listed the objectives he needed Robert and Declan to achieve in the settlement, while he, Isobel, and The Corsair sailed on up the estuary and made their way by the shortest possible route to Caleb’s camp outside the mining compound. “From everything we’ve learned, those from the settlement don’t use that north-south route to and from the mine. They come through the jungle, most likely via Kale’s camp, which means we should reach the compound and join forces with Caleb at least a day before they—Satterly, Lord Peter, and Neill—can get there.”

  Royd paused, then went on, “When they arrive...if there’s any sign they intend to close the mine immediately, we’ll attack, but”—he held up a hand to stay Declan’s protest—“if at all possible, we’ll wait until Robert and you arrive with Babington and your crews.” He met Declan’s gaze. “Given all I’ve read about Dubois, I would infinitely prefer to go in with overwhelming numbers and preferably with some well-thought-out and certain-to-be-effective distraction in place. That’s going to take time to arrange, so...unless Ross-Courtney and Neill immediately move to shut the mine, you’re not going to miss the action.”

  Declan humphed. “All right. But I want it noted that having you and Caleb together is just asking for trouble in that regard.”

  Isobel pursed her lips against the impulse to grin. Declan was right, but few people knew just how reckless Royd truly was; he’d always concealed his wild streak much better than Caleb ever had.

  Edwina frowned. “But if we’re to cordon off the settlement from the mine...won’t Satterly and the other two notice and pull back? If they see guards along the paths, won’t they take fright and stay in the settlement?”

  “That’s the one change to our plans—the rope we’re going to let them take.” Royd glanced at Declan. “The first thing you and Robert need to do is to locate Satterly and the other two—my guess is that they’ll be staying with Holbrook, but Babington’s sure to know. Once you’ve found them, hang back, and give them a chance to set out for the mine. Trail them to make sure they’re on their way, but once you’re certain, you can notify Holbrook and the commander at the fort, and proceed with all the steps we’ve discussed to lock down the settlement—just in case, by all that’s holy, we’ve missed someone.”

  Declan nodded. “Or we find that Muldoon and Winton have been somewhere other than at the mine, and they pop up back here.”

  “Precisely.” Royd paused, then said, “So we’re set for orders.” He glanced out to sea. “Do you have any idea how far back Robert is?”

  Declan grunted. “Not that far. Once you modify The Trident as you have The Cormorant, his will be the faster ship again.” Royd grinned, and Declan went on, “I would expect to see him by dawn, if not before.”

  “Excellent. And Kit and Lachlan? Did you get any sighting of them?”

  “Robert signaled that he’d seen Lachlan, and that Lachlan had confirmed that Kit was trailing him.”

  Royd nodded. “It looks like we’re set—as far as we can be.”

  Edwina frowned. “Did I understand correctly that Kit will be the one to patrol off the coast to discourage any
would-be blockade runners and take action should any ship try to slip out?”

  Royd answered, “Her Consort has the best firepower of all our ships, and in such a situation, she’s the most capable of any of our captains—and I include myself in that number.”

  Declan grumbled, “Bloodthirsty woman.”

  Edwina looked intrigued. She glanced at Isobel. “Kit sounds like someone I definitely should meet.”

  Isobel grinned. “You’ll like her. She’s very”—she looked at Royd and Declan, and her grin deepened—“forthright.”

  Declan humphed and turned to Royd. “That reminds me. Robert passed on a message from Kit for you—she’s put some of her men aboard Lachlan’s Sea Dragon. She said as Consort is just holding station, they can be spared.”

  Royd nodded. “We’re going to need every well-trained and reliable hand we can muster.” He looked at Isobel. “Now we all know what we’re doing, we should make a start.”

  Isobel’s eyes lit, and she turned to make her farewells to Edwina.

  Royd thumped Declan’s shoulder. “Today’s the thirty-first. I’ll expect to see you, Robert, and your crews no later than the third.”

  Declan thumped him back. “We’ll be there.”

  In short order, Royd and Isobel returned to the deck of The Corsair. The instant everything had been settled, he’d felt an upsurge of impatience—of needing to get moving, needing to sail on.

  Even before he gained the upper deck, he snapped off orders to up the anchors and set sail. Going up the ladder in Isobel’s wake, he strode to the wheel.

  Liam Stewart yielded with a smile. “And we’re off!”

  “We are, indeed.” Royd called up more sail. Within minutes, The Corsair glided forward, leaving The Cormorant wallowing in her wake.

  Royd steered the ship wide until they were sufficiently beyond the settlement to risk swinging into the main channel leading east, farther into the estuary.

  Isobel came to stand beside him. He glanced at her, took in the way the wind twisted the loose strands of her hair, saw the excitement in her face, gilded by moonlight.