A Buccaneer at Heart

by Stephanie Laurens

  Babington was by no means slow. He figured it out in seconds. “So said perpetrators won’t risk covering their tracks by killing those they’ve taken.” He nodded. “And you think someone in the settlement is involved.”

  “Some people, yes. More than one person, but exactly who is involved we can’t say.” Robert paused, reading what he could now see in Babington’s face—stripped of the man’s usual debonair mask—and made the decision to trust him. “Pour yourself another drink, and let me tell you what we know.”

  Babington cut him a glance, then complied. Once he’d resettled on the sofa, a glass of whisky in his hand, Robert proceeded to lay out the entire scenario as they knew it, starting with Declan’s mission.

  When he got to the part about Edwina being drugged by Lady Holbrook and then passed on to men they believed to be part of the slavers’ gang, Babington swore.

  “She’s gone, you know. Took ship...it must have been a few days after Declan sailed. Holbrook told Macauley she went to help a sister in need, but I later heard the ship she’d sailed on was headed to America.” Babington’s face hardened. “That seemed odd at the time. Now...”

  “Indeed. One thing you can confirm for me—Holbrook’s still here?”

  Babington nodded. “On deck as usual. No change that Macauley or I have noticed—and the old man would have said if he’d sensed anything amiss.”

  “So it’s likely Holbrook is innocent in all this—but he’s not likely to be much use to us, either. Until we know the identity of all those involved, alerting Holbrook might see him react in a way that will alert the villains, which, again, is the last thing we want. Also, as the focus of the investigation lies outside the settlement, it’s unlikely Holbrook will be able to provide the kind of help required. That makes telling him a large risk without much chance of reward.” Robert cocked a brow at Babington. “At least that was Declan’s assessment.”

  Babington grimaced. “I wouldn’t disagree. Holbrook is paranoid about keeping the colony calm, and any hint of white slavers operating within the settlement would cause a panic—and send Macauley’s blood pressure soaring.” Dryly, he added, “Never a good thing. Especially not for the political classes. And Holbrook’s no great poker player. If he knew something disturbing—let alone something as threatening to his well-being as this—he wouldn’t be able to hide it.”

  Robert humphed. After a moment, he resumed his recitation of events—Declan’s return to London, his report to Melville and Wolverstone, and Robert’s subsequent recruitment to undertake the next leg of the mission.

  Babington arched a brow. “Not your usual sort of escapade.”

  “True, but I’m not averse to the occasional challenge.” Robert realized that was, indeed, the truth. “It keeps me on my toes.”

  “It’ll do more than that if there are slavers involved. Normally, they don’t operate in the settlement—they give it a wide berth—but I’ve heard tales aplenty. Enough to know the locals both despise and fear them with good cause.” Babington looked at Robert. “So you’re here to pick up the slavers’ trail.”

  Robert nodded. “My task is to locate their camp, which I’ve learned will be out in the jungle somewhere, sufficiently far out to avoid the patrols out of Thornton, and also to steer clear of the surrounding villages and their chiefs.”

  “That makes sense.” Babington met Robert’s gaze. “Whatever help I can give, you can count on it.”

  Robert inclined his head in acknowledgment. “My orders are to learn the camp’s location, then take that back to London. I’ve been expressly forbidden to follow the trail of the captives any further.” He looked Babington in the eye. “In trusting you with the details of this mission, I expect you to abide by the restrictions, too.”

  Babington thought, then grimaced. “As you say, locating the enterprise—the mine, if it turns out to be that—without alerting whoever the villains have in their pockets here is absolutely vital. If news that London is conducting an investigation leaks out...” He took a swig of his whisky, then bleakly finished, “All the captives will be dead sooner than you can blink.”

  “Just so.” Robert felt his face harden.

  “So what do you need me to do?”

  Robert reviewed his options. “At present, my men and I are quietly tucked away in an inn in the merchants’ quarter. Far enough from the docks that it’s unlikely we’ll run into anyone who would recognize me—or my men.”

  Babington frowned. “Where’s The Trident?”

  “At anchor farther down the estuary.” Robert paused, then added, “We have false name boards up, and with the squadron at sea, there’s no one around likely to recognize her lines.”

  “Except me.” Babington drained his glass. “And I won’t tell.”

  “Exactly.” Robert paused, then asked, “Do you have any inkling of who in the settlement might be involved in this? Anyone acting suspiciously?”

  Babington snorted. “I hadn’t a clue Lady Holbrook was involved, and I met with her and Holbrook regularly.” He shook his head. “On the one hand, I can still barely believe it, but on the other, I can. She was always so much more...grasping than he.”

  Robert returned to his earlier line of thought. “At the moment, I have all the help I need. My orders more or less forbid me to engage, so having an extra sword isn’t going to make a difference. But thinking ahead, having you on the ground here, keeping your eyes and ears open...at some point, once we have the location of the mine, I imagine a force will be sent in to liberate it. And given the issues in the settlement, that force will almost certainly arrive direct from London. They’ll need help—the sort of help you will be perfectly positioned to give.”

  Babington nodded. “Very well. I’ll keep my head down, eyes open, and ears flapping. However...” His eyes narrowed. He tapped one fingernail on the now empty glass in his hands. Slowly, he smiled, although there was no humor in the expression. “One thing I can do that would be entirely in character—all but routine, or at least I could make it appear so—is to run checks on the cargoes being loaded into certain holds. Even when a ship is sailing for some port not in England, we will occasionally run a spot check, just to make sure there are no goods marked to be shipped on.”

  Babington met Robert’s gaze. “I agree with Declan that the most likely enterprise at the bottom of this scheme is a diamond mine. And if it’s diamonds, the shipments will be headed to Amsterdam. I can search all ships bound for that area. I’ll disguise it as some sort of crackdown due to something or other—easy enough for me to fabricate a cause.”

  “What about Macauley?”

  “He tends to leave the day-to-day business to me, while he massages the politicians and the relevant authorities.” Babington’s lips twisted. “It’s an arrangement that works for both of us and, in this case, leaves me free to make it harder for our villains to clear their ill-gotten goods.”

  “Interfering with their logistics in such a way...” Robert narrowed his eyes as he contemplated that, then he nodded decisively. “As long as you can make it seem entirely due to some other unconnected reason, putting that sort of pressure on the villains’ plans might well unsettle them, might even force them to act in some way they haven’t planned, which can only be to our advantage.”

  Babington nodded. “There’ll be no risk to the captives as long as the villains have no reason to imagine their game has been uncovered. They’ll merely see my efforts as an annoying and unhelpful nuisance.” He grinned coldly. “I’ll certainly be doing my best to make that so.”

  After a moment, Babington asked, “So where do you intend to start your search for the slavers’ trail?”

  The question brought Robert back to his day. He’d told Babington of Lashoria’s claim of the slavers being connected with Undoto. Now he filled Babington in about what he’d found when he’d visited Lashoria.


  Babington listened in stoic silence. Robert ended his tale with the old woman’s information about the slave trader Kale. Babington nodded. “As I said, the locals hate them, but they’re generally too afraid to make any sort of move against them, not even to pass on information.”

  Robert exhaled and sat up. “So I’m going to start with Undoto, because he appears to be the only lead I have. Can you add anything to what I already know about him?”

  Babington shook his head. “I’ve been to only one of his services—I never saw the point. But Mary liked them—she said it was the drama.” Babington’s voice had grown cold. “If it turns out it was that—her going to his services—that led to her being taken—”

  “He’ll pay.”

  Babington’s lips curved menacingly. “Indeed, he will.”

  Deciding to ignore that, Robert said, “One thing Lashoria’s old servant stressed was how very different this scheme was to the usual sort of slavery practiced hereabouts.”

  Babington nodded. “It is. Normally these days, those seized by the slavers are tribesmen from deep in the interior. The slavers walk them out, then load them onto ships well away from any of the settlements. Coming anywhere near Freetown—well, it’s the base for the governor and the squadron, so for slavers, that’s akin to asking to be caught and clapped in irons themselves. But in this case, they’re taking Europeans, and not just men but young women and children, too, and it seems they’re taking them out of the settlement and into the jungle—and, if the assumption of a mine is correct, they’re using them here, not shipping them out for sale far away. It’s a very different kind of trade.”

  After a moment, Babington said, “If it’s a mine, why take young women and children? I understand Declan’s suggestion of how young women and children might be used in a diamond-mining operation, and that might well be true, yet when we’re talking about amassing a workforce via slavery, then if there’s a choice between men on the one hand and women and children on the other...” Babington shook his head. “If there’s a sufficient supply of men, and in a settlement like this there surely is, then taking women, much less children, should have been a less attractive—less efficient—option.” Babington met Robert’s gaze. “An option of lower return to the slavers as well as the mine operators, yet it’s one they’ve taken, apparently deliberately.”

  Robert thought of all he’d learned. “When you assess this scheme dispassionately, everything about it has been thoroughly planned by people who know how things operate here. Whoever they are, they foresaw the problems they would face and took steps to counter them. Given that, I think we can be sure that with respect to them taking young women and children, they will have a reason, and it’ll be a good one.”

  CHAPTER 5

  The following morning, Robert adjourned with his men to Sampson’s tavern. The old sailor had insights into the local population; seated about Sampson’s corner table, mugs of ale before them all, Robert relayed what Lashoria’s old servant had told him.

  “The old woman confirmed all that Lashoria had told my brother and sister-in-law—that Lashoria had seen Undoto with the slavers, and she’d seen him accept money from the slavers’ hands. While Lashoria was killed virtually on the heels of my brother and his wife leaving, it seems unlikely that it was Lashoria’s contact with them that brought the slavers down on her head.”

  Robert paused, recalling what else Declan and Edwina had told him. “She—Lashoria—had spoken of Undoto’s connection with the slavers to Hardwicke, the minister. He hadn’t taken her case to Holbrook...” Robert tipped his head. “As far as we know. We don’t know with whom in the settlement Hardwicke might have spoken, but my sister-in-law understood from Hardwicke’s wife that the minister was disturbed by Lashoria’s claims, so he might have sought advice from others over what to do.”

  “Perhaps that’s something we could check?” Fuller suggested.

  Robert nodded. “If we have the opportunity, it might lead us to another of those involved—we have to assume there are others besides Lady Holbrook drawn into and actively supporting this.” He pulled a face. “It’s possible the person Hardwicke spoke to was her ladyship, but I’ll check if I get a chance.”

  He paused, then said, “More to the point, however, we need to move forward. If Lashoria’s old servant is correct, then the first place we need to find is the slavers’ lair inside the settlement.” He glanced at Sampson.

  The old sailor nodded his grizzled head. “She’s right—that’s how I’ve heard they operate. Or, at least, how they used to. As everyone says, the slavers haven’t been making away with locals from this settlement for a good long while now. But I’ve heard they occasionally come in and lurk—no one’s ever sure why or what for. But they always have a bolt hole buried somewhere in the slums.”

  Robert nodded. “So that’s our first goal—locate the slavers’ lair. The only potential connection anyone’s turned up is Undoto, so he’s the one we’ll watch.” He looked at Sampson. “I don’t suppose you know where Undoto lives?”

  Sampson shook his head. “I know he comes walking down along the road above the church, but I’ve never seen beyond that or heard tell of his house.”

  Robert looked at his men. “We need to identify Undoto’s house. I’ll leave you four to handle that. Once you’ve found the place, scout around for a spot from which we can set up surveillance. From what the old woman said, we need to watch at night—the slavers don’t generally amble about in daylight.”

  All four men started to raise their hands, then stopped and nodded instead.

  “Once you’ve found a useful spot,” Robert continued, “two of you remain on watch. I’ll meet the other two back at the inn.”

  The four nodded again, drained their mugs, set them on the table, and rose. After farewelling Sampson, they headed out.

  Sampson watched them go. “You didn’t tell them how they were supposed to learn where Undoto lives.” Sampson met Robert’s gaze. “I’m curious as to how you think they’ll do that.”

  Robert grinned and set down his mug. “They’ll start asking around the area—anyone they meet. They’ll say they’re trying to find the priest to ask him something one might ask a priest about.” He smiled at Sampson. “They’re good at what they do—I can trust them to get the job done. Quietly.”

  Sampson grunted. “Like I thought, you’re not just a ship’s captain, and they’re not just sailors.”

  Robert’s smile deepened. “For all that, we’re sailors first.” He got to his feet, hesitated, then said, “I saw the Office of the Naval Attaché at the end of Government Wharf. Who is the attaché—is he a navy man?”

  Sampson snorted derisively. “Not sure he’s even a sailor. A bureaucrat of some sort—a trumped-up public servant clerk. An Irishman by the name of Muldoon.” Sampson shrugged. “I’ve never heard much about him. Only time I went into the office, there were three junior clerks pushing papers. That seems all they do.”

  “Thank you.” With a salute for the old man, Robert left him and walked out into the welling heat.

  He glanced around, then started walking toward the harbor.

  He’d been debating his next move all morning. Being so readily identifiable as another Frobisher meant he needed to avoid any offices Declan had visited; having two Frobishers turn up within a month of each other, both asking questions, would undoubtedly give rise to unhelpful speculation. So the governor’s office and residence, and the fort, too, were off limits to him.

  But Declan hadn’t called at the Office of the Naval Attaché.

  Declan had, rightly, been concerned over running into Vice-Admiral Decker or any of his officers, all of whom would recognize a Frobisher on sight and immediately start questioning the reason for their presence, but Robert doubted lowly clerks would pose much of a threat.

  Navy men would, but the ships of the
squadron were noticeably still absent from the harbor. There wouldn’t be any naval officers coming into the office today.

  Robert was certain he’d never met Muldoon before, and the chances of the junior clerks knowing him by sight were miniscule.

  Eyes narrowing against the sun’s glare, he murmured, “And I need to know if Decker’s going to hove on my horizon any time soon.”

  He reached the area near their inn and continued steadily on. He had no idea if Decker himself was involved with the villains and their scheme—even if his involvement was merely to turn a blind eye.

  Equally, however, he could see no reason for the villains to involve Decker, not if the focus of their enterprise lay inland in the jungles somewhere. Decker’s area of interest—and his arena of influence—lay out to sea, in the sea-lanes he policed.

  Robert didn’t particularly like Decker—the older man was a rigidly stuffy, indeed, reactionary stickler—but Robert also had difficulty believing that Decker, if he heard of any operation involving slavery, would turn a blind eye; he was simply not the sort to bend in any way at all—which in part fueled the animosity Decker felt toward the Frobishers.

  To Decker’s rigid mind, the Frobishers were far too...innovative. In the widest sense of the word.

  Robert looked ahead. The brilliant blue of the harbor lay beyond the end of the street he was descending. From this direction, he could walk down to and then along the length of the quay fronting Kroo Bay to the office at the end of Government Wharf, but navy men weren’t the only ones who might recognize him; there were many who sailed on merchant fleets who might, too.

  He turned left into an alley and tacked through the narrower streets and lanes that riddled the area immediately behind the quay. Stepping onto the quay close by the naval office would reduce the risk of being recognized.