The Deception At Lyme m&mdm-6

by Carrie Bebris

  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.”

  Thirty-Two

  It now became necessary for the party to consider what was best to be done.

  —Persuasion

  Georgiana looked ill as she searched St. Clair’s face for confirmation. “Sir Laurence came into his baronetcy two and a half years ago—after the events aboard the Magna Carta that you have been describing. It is he of whom you speak, is it not?”

  “Yes,” St. Clair said. “Of course, he was simply ‘Mr. Ashford’ then.”

  “But already a gentleman who enjoyed the life of an aristocrat,” Georgiana said.

  Elizabeth heard the revelation with only mild surprise; as their discussion had progressed, she had begun to harbor her own suspicions about the identity of Captain Tourner’s third guest. “Was he traveling with Mr. Smith and Mr. Elliot?” she asked. />
  “He had traveled to visit his godfather, the Duke of Manchester—Governor of Jamaica,” St. Clair said. “Once, while I dined with the three gentlemen at the captain’s table, Sir Laurence mentioned that he had shared a slight acquaintance with Mr. Elliot and Mr. Smith in London, and by happenstance had booked passage on the same ship to the West Indies. English society on the island is so limited that they could not help but meet each other periodically during their time there, which advanced their acquaintance. Sir Laurence, however, was definitely a detached third party to the well-established friendship of the other two, and seemed perfectly content to remain so.”

  “When do you think he became part of the conspiracy?” Darcy asked. “He told us at the launch that the Black Cormorant had been two years in its construction.”

  “If he was involved in Lieutenant Fitzwilliam’s death, then he was involved in the conspiracy by the time the Montego and Magna Carta set sail for England—possibly before they ever departed London; after all, we have only their word for it that their London acquaintance was slight. In fact, that is the supposition I have been exploring most recently. I think Mr. Elliot and Mr. Smith approached Sir Laurence as a potential investor back in London, and that he traveled to the Caribbean to see the cache of gold for himself before deciding to finance the building of a merchant ship.”

  “I notice that you continually refer to Mr. Elliot and Mr. Smith in tandem,” Mrs. Wentworth said. “Are you certain that Mr. Smith knew about the smuggling? At the risk of appearing naïve, I have always received the impression from Mrs. Smith that Mr. Elliot led his friend so thoroughly that it is possible all of this transpired around Mr. Smith without his even realizing it. Has anybody spoken to Mrs. Smith about it?” She turned to her husband. “Has any evidence been found among his papers that implicates him—or that could illuminate the role of Sir Laurence?”