Lord of the Privateers

by Stephanie Laurens

  Life was moving on, and things were falling into place.

  Royd pushed away from the rock wall as Declan and Robert returned.

  It was Declan who cast a slightly sheepish glance around and, in a mutter, voiced what was in all their minds. “I don’t know how Caleb stood it down here—I can’t see the sky. I can’t feel the wind.” Declan shuddered and shook his head. “Let’s get out of here.”

  They emerged into dappled daylight. With nothing better to do, they walked to where Lascelle and Hillsythe were questioning Satterly, Muldoon, and Winton. The three must have recently returned from burying the mercenaries. They looked wretched and utterly defeated. Hillsythe and Lascelle had elected to question them away from Ross-Courtney and Neill; they’d sat the three, with wrists still shackled, on logs about the fire pit, with their backs to the barracks and the other two prisoners tethered there.

  As Royd and his brothers walked up, Lascelle said, “Bon! So you understand that there is no way out.”

  Royd halted. Robert and Declan did, too, flanking him. Standing behind Lascelle and Hillsythe, the brothers folded their arms and listened.

  “The evidence against you is overwhelming,” Hillsythe stated. “And in your cases, you have no hope of using your positions to escape the gallows. Besides”—Hillsythe’s voice lowered—“those two are already angling to throw you three to the wolves. When we spoke to them earlier, while protesting his innocence, Ross-Courtney said he really had no idea what Satterly might have been up to, and had even less notion of how law-abiding you two”—he nodded at Muldoon and Winton—“were.” Hillsythe paused dramatically. “And Neill agreed.”

  Winton threw a furious look at Satterly. “I told you they’d give us up.”

  “Of course, they will.” Lascelle waved contemptuously—in imitation of Ross-Courtney’s superior manner. “To them, you are cannon fodder. Their lives are the only ones that matter.”

  Throughout, Satterly had been staring at his linked and shackled hands, but at that, he finally looked up. He stared at Lascelle and Hillsythe, then he licked his lips and said, “We may be for it, but”—he raised his gaze and looked at Royd—“if we tell all we know...” He drew in a shaky breath and rushed on, “If we bear witness against them, can you guarantee the court will change our sentence to transportation?”

  Royd opted for the unvarnished truth. “I can’t promise that, but it’s possible.” He paused, then went on, “What I can guarantee is that, for various reasons that have as much to do with politics as anything else, the Crown is far more interested in seeing the likes of Ross-Courtney and Neill brought to justice. Publicly. You three”—he skated his gaze over the three men—“are small fry. You’re not the big fishes the government wants to see in its net. Were I you, I’d seize the opportunity to cooperate. If you want to survive, it’s the best thing you can do.”

  Satterly studied Royd’s face, then he glanced at Muldoon and Winton.

  “I say we talk.” Muldoon’s voice was harsh. “He’s right—we have nothing to lose.”

  “And, just possibly,” Lascelle murmured, “another chance at living to gain.”

  “I’ll speak.” Winton looked at Hillsythe. “But I don’t know much.”

  “You do know that Ross-Courtney and Neill are two of the backers of this illicit scheme, don’t you?” Hillsythe asked.

  Winton nodded. He glanced at Satterly. “Arnold introduced them as that, and by their behavior while here, they’re obviously that. But I hadn’t met them, or even heard their names, before they turned up here.”

  Lascelle looked at Muldoon. “You?”

  Muldoon pressed his lips tight, then nodded. “I don’t know much more, not about the backers. Arnold”—he tipped his head toward Satterly—“mentioned Lord Peter’s name when we first realized we would need backers to bankroll the mine. He said Lord Peter was a second cousin who might well be interested and who would likely know others of...the right sort.” Muldoon paused, then went on, “But I never heard the backers’ names, not after they became backers. Until they arrived here, I had no idea if Ross-Courtney was, in fact, involved, and I’d never even heard Neill’s name.”

  All eyes swung to Satterly. His face was pale, his expression haggard. But whatever internal battle of familial loyalty he’d been waging had ended. Without meeting anyone’s eyes, he said, “Lord Peter is a second cousin, and I knew from talk within the family that he dabbled in...questionable ventures. Often, he acted as the principal organizer.” Satterly lifted a shoulder. “Who better to ask to be one of our backers, especially given his position and his access to others? On my last leave, I went to London and told him of our plan. He saw the potential immediately. He was...enthused, and from that point on, he took over the financing of the project. He formed a group of investors—the backers—and everything just rolled on from there.”

  When Satterly fell silent, Hillsythe said, “So Lord Peter Ross-Courtney is the central figure, and he recruited the other backers, one of whom is Neill. Who else is in the group?”

  Satterly frowned. He met Hillsythe’s gaze. “I don’t know. He—Peter—insisted we didn’t need to know.”

  Muldoon snorted. “Didn’t he say it was too dangerous for us to know?”

  Satterly nodded. “When I pressed, that was the excuse he gave. He never mentioned the other backers by name. The first I knew of Neill was when he arrived in Freetown in Peter’s train.”

  “So you have no idea who the other backers are?” Robert asked.

  All three shook their heads. From their expressions, it was clear that, now they’d made the decision to talk, if they’d known, they would have said.

  “You might not know names,” Royd said, “but do you know how many backers there are? We have two here.” He tipped his head toward the barracks’ porch. “How many more are there?”

  Satterly shook his head. “He never said.”

  “Four.” Muldoon glanced at Satterly. “In the cleaning shed, remember? When we were showing them the blue diamonds, Ross-Courtney was gloating—and he said: ‘If the other four could see these, they’d swoon.’”

  Satterly’s expression cleared, and he nodded. “Yes, I remember. He implied there were four more.”

  Hillsythe exhaled and looked at Royd.

  Royd caught his gaze and nodded, then he looked at the three men. “You three are still prisoners. You’ll be kept in irons, marched to the ships, placed in the brigs, and taken to London to face court there.” He paused, then went on, “Between now and boarding the ships, we can, if you wish, keep you separate from the other two. Alternatively, you might continue to stick close to them, converse with them—and see if you can learn anything more to your advantage. The more information you have to offer, the better it will go for you.” He gave them a second, then said, “Your choice.”

  Muldoon looked at Satterly. “While this might have been our idea, without them, we couldn’t have done any of it. Yet they’re going to deny all involvement and use their lofty positions to protect themselves while we pay the price.” His features hardened. “I say we make best use of what chances come our way and see what more they might let fall in our hearing.”

  Winton cleared his throat. “I concur. We don’t owe them anything.”

  Satterly looked at Muldoon, then Winton. Then he raised his head, met Royd’s gaze, and nodded. “We’ll remain with them and see what more we can learn.”

  With that decided, after a short conference with Hillsythe and Lascelle, Royd, Declan, and Robert left the three younger villains sitting by the fire pit and walked to where Ross-Courtney and Neill sat in the meager shade thrown by the end of the porch.

  Both gentlemen looked very much the worse for their recent treatment, their clothes and hair dirty and disheveled.

  Caleb came striding toward them; he’d been helping Dixon gather the names
for the restitution fund. He noted his brothers’ direction and arched a brow at Royd. “Anything?”

  “I’ll tell you later.” Royd nodded at the two backers. “We’re about to see if these two have anything to add to what we’ve learned.”

  But the instant the brothers halted before the pair, Ross-Courtney, scowling ferociously, stated, “We have nothing more to say to you beyond stating what should be obvious to the meanest intelligence. We are not and never have been involved in this scurrilous scheme. There is not a shred of credible evidence to link us to it, and once I gain the ear of those in authority, I will ensure you regret treating us in this abominable fashion. I fully intend to bring the full weight of the law and the censure of all society against you for this ludicrous attempt to besmirch my good name.” Belatedly, Ross-Courtney waved at Neill. “And that of my colleagues.”

  “Colleagues?” Royd arched his brows. “Colleagues in what?”

  “Never you mind,” Ross-Courtney belligerently replied.

  “Business colleagues.” Neill met Royd’s gaze with a flat stare. “As we explained to the governor, we are here pursuing a business venture, nothing more.”

  “And how many other ‘colleagues’ are in the group you represent?” Robert asked.

  Neill’s expression hardened. “That’s a private matter and none of your concern.”

  “I believe you’ll discover that’s not actually the case,” Declan evenly stated.

  When Neill looked down, and Ross-Courtney pointedly looked away, Royd turned to Caleb. “Apparently they don’t have anything worthwhile to add.” He turned and led his brothers away.

  Royd halted in the shade cast by the cleaning shed. The other three gathered around, waiting to hear what he had to say. He looked at the three prisoners they’d left at the fire pit, and then at the two tied to the porch. “Those two have decided to brazen this out. They assume and expect that once we reach London, they’ll be questioned politely, and they’ll be able to look down their noses, pull strings, and bluster their way out of any charges. Despite the government’s desire for a conclusive outcome, when it comes to it, I’m fairly certain the likes of Melville will waver and, one way or another, those two will walk free. Once they do—”

  “If there is any documentary evidence of their involvement in this scheme, it will turn to ashes,” Robert said.

  “Along with anything connecting them to the other four.” Declan looked at Caleb. “We now know there are four more backers.”

  Caleb grimaced. “And when there is no evidence to be found, the charges will be dropped, and...”

  Robert snorted. “Even if Wolverstone and his crew find enough trails to link all of the backers to the scheme, before they can be arrested, they’ll take a trip to the Continent.”

  Declan nodded. “A long, luxurious holiday.”

  “Paid for by the blood, sweat, and tears—and the lives—of those who were held captive here.” Caleb’s jaw set. “We can’t let that happen.”

  Royd nodded. “Obviously, we need to think more about this.”

  * * *

  An hour later, the ex-captives and their rescuers met about the fire pit for a cup of tea and freshly made biscuits, courtesy of the small army of cooks who were engaged in assembling their best approximation of a banquet for the evening celebration.

  Royd looked around the circle. “Everyone ready to leave at first light?”

  “Yes!”

  The chorus was deafening. Everyone grinned and exchanged glances. At last, people were smiling again.

  The mood had lifted.

  It lifted still further when it was revealed that several bottles of excellent brandy had been found in the barracks—bottles carried in for Ross-Courtney and Neill. A vote was taken, and brandy-punch would feature that evening.

  The mention of Ross-Courtney and Neill gave Royd the opening he’d been waiting for. He raised his voice over the happy din. “There’s one last issue on which I need to know your thoughts.”

  The noise ceased. All about the circle looked at him inquiringly.

  He smiled faintly. “As commander of this mission, it’s my responsibility to take our prisoners back to London, to the authorities there. As matters stand, we have evidence enough to be certain of convicting the three locals—Satterly, Muldoon, and Winton. However, when it comes to Ross-Courtney, Neill, and the four other backers without whose greed the entire scheme would never have become a reality...” Concisely, he outlined the hurdles they would face in bringing Ross-Courtney, Neill, and the four as-yet-unnamed backers to any sort of justice.

  Dark murmurs sprang up. Royd held up a staying hand. “That doesn’t mean they will escape justice. There are many in London, in positions of power, who want the backers, especially, to pay the price for their crimes. There are ways the necessary evidence might be uncovered. But in order for such evidence to be collected, several powerful people will have to go out on a limb. They’ll have to allow rules to be bent.” Royd looked around the circle, meeting all the adults’ eyes. “I’m willing to return to London and make that case—that if rules need to be bent to bring the six backers of this heinous scheme to justice, then so be it.”

  A rising chorus of support came from all around.

  Hillsythe had the background to understand the line Royd was taking; he raised his voice and helpfully asked, “What do you need from us? How can we help?”

  Royd sent him a grateful look and, into the suddenly arrested silence, replied, “I need a clear directive from all who’ve been victims of these men. That what you want—that what you as free Englishmen and women demand—is that all six perpetrators, the six greedy backers, be brought to justice.”

  A clamor of agreement rose all around. There was not one dissenting voice.

  Will Hopkins raised his hand. “What about a petition?” He looked around the circle. “One signed by all who were kidnapped.”

  Royd nodded. “An excellent idea.”

  “Give me the wording”—Isobel rose to her feet—“and I’ll draw one up.” She looked at the eager faces. “We’ll have it ready on the barracks’ steps by the time everyone gathers for the evening. Each of you can sign it before you sit down.”

  Everyone cheered.

  From the corner of his eye, Royd saw Ross-Courtney and Neill scowling ferociously. He sipped his tea and smiled.

  * * *

  Their last evening in the compound was as celebratory as the ex-captives and their rescuers could make it. The cooks had worked to add festive touches to the meal, and the libations were sufficiently heady to put smiles on every face.

  Every one of the ex-captives finally relaxed—finally truly believed that they were going home, that in the morning they would march out of the place of their captivity, never to return.

  A species of giddiness took hold. People mingled, talking and laughing. Then five sailors produced hornpipes, and dancing became the order of the hour.

  Reels were a favorite of young and old; the children joined the adults, and the entire company flung themselves into joyous measure after measure.

  At one point, Royd stepped out of the stream of dancers and, picking up a glass of brandy-punch, stood to one side, observing and evaluating. Reasoning that the company didn’t need to see the prisoners’ sour faces, he’d had the five moved into the mine for the night. Accustomed to drawing and labeling her designs, Isobel had used materials she’d found in Dubois’s desk—so appropriate—to produce a beautifully lettered petition that every captive had been only too willing, even proud, to sign. Even the children; deciding that having their marks on the document would only strengthen their collective hand, Katherine, Isobel, Edwina, and Aileen had worked with each child until they could scrawl their name on the parchment.

  The satisfaction the children had derived from doing so had made every mi
nute of that effort worthwhile.

  The signed petition had been carefully packed in oilskins and now rested in Isobel’s satchel.

  They’d done all they could here.

  Royd sipped and looked to the future.

  To Declan and Edwina; across the fire pit, Declan beamed with proprietorial pride as Edwina hung on his arm and gaily chatted with Harriet and Dixon. Two secure and settled matches there.

  Looking farther, Royd spotted Robert with Aileen, Robert listening as Aileen animatedly talked with Will and Fanshawe.

  Royd found Caleb and Kate surrounded by children, all laughing as, seated on the logs with the children forming a large circle at his feet, Caleb spun them some hilarious tale. Annie Mellows and Jed Mathers watched, arm in arm and smiling, while Babington had his arm around his Mary; the pair couldn’t seem to drag their eyes from each other for longer than a minute.

  Even as the intention to look for Isobel formed in his mind, he felt her arm loop around his. He looked at her.

  She leaned against him and gazed into his face, searching his eyes. “What are you thinking?”

  He let his eyes meet hers. It took him a moment to find the right words. “I was thinking of resilience, and that people have much more of it than they realize.”

  Isobel tilted her head. She watched him as, his eyes on hers, he raised his glass and sipped. She was fairly certain he wasn’t talking of the recently freed captives but of her and him. Of them together.

  After a second, she smiled and looked at the others, but she couldn’t stop her thoughts from following his direction. He wasn’t wrong; their connection—that ephemeral link that had grown between them over all the years they’d spent together—hadn’t died when they’d parted. It had survived, perhaps not unchanged yet not seriously damaged and certainly not weakened—a resilience neither he nor she had appreciated.