by Sahara Kelly
There were shrubs, a few flowers and a nicely green patch of grass, complete with the requisite chairs and a table. The shade came from a large parasol erected by Dusk. Trees didn’t do so well, being much too close to the savage onshore winds.
But it was a charming little spot, nothing grandiose, just pleasant. The ocean provided its own musical accompaniment and the scudding clouds added visual interest to the light. Minnie loved it and willingly took a place next to Pierce, ready to continue their conversation.
Dusk was making sure Felicia had her wrap and a hat—of all of them, she was most likely to feel the damage that too much sun could do to the skin.
So Minnie had Pierce to herself for a moment or two. “Thank you for having us here.” She glanced at him. He’d left his jacket upstairs…in fact, they’d all agreed to put aside the social conventions.
He looked good. His hair blew in the breeze, his eyes were clear and brilliant in the changing light and Minnie wanted nothing more at that moment than to slide into his arms and curl up there. It was a horribly weak and feminine thing to want, she knew. It wasn’t the sort of thing she’d ever imagined herself wishing for. But she did.
There it was.
“Look at me like that much longer and I’ll have you naked on your back in ten seconds flat.” His voice was low and sensual, the promise backed up by the heat flaring in his eyes.
“Really?” She licked her lips. “I mean…I wasn’t…I didn’t…”
“Yes you are, yes you do and so do I.” His response was obscure and made little sense, but Minnie completely understood it. Which was frightening when she thought about it.
He put his hand on top of hers, his skin warm, his fingers gentle as they wrapped themselves around her hand. “Come to me tonight, Minnie. Please. It’s time. I don’t think I can wait much longer. Not if I’ve got to stay on top of these murders.” He turned their hands and interlinked their fingers. “You’re a distraction I’m not sure if I can afford. Perhaps if we do this, we can get it out of our systems and move on with the business at hand.”
She looked down, seeing his tanned skin blending so perfectly with her own paler tones. “Perhaps.”
He hissed out a breath. “Perhaps what? Perhaps yes you’ll come to me tonight? Perhaps we’ll get it out of our system? Sweet Jesus, woman…” His grip went from gentle to possessive. “You have no idea how insane you’re making me.”
She couldn’t help chuckling. “Relax, Pierce. You’ll hurt yourself. And that will never do because I’m going to need you in one piece tonight.” She squeezed his hand. “I could rephrase that a little.” She leaned closer. “I’m definitely going to need one piece of you tonight.”
He made a sort of strangled sound, something resembling the triumphant squawk of a seagull trying to swallow a fish three times its size.
Thankfully, Dusk and Felicia arrived at that moment, and Minnie managed to stifle any more inappropriate comments. Although it wasn’t easy, since Pierce had hurriedly reached for the sheaf of papers and tossed it onto his lap.
Where it was threatening to slide off as the fit of his trousers was seriously distended.
A dart of pleasure arrowed through Minnie’s body and landed between her thighs. Oh yes. Tonight. She was ready too.
“The Slave Triangle,” Felicia began. “It happened a long time ago. Early this century, I believe—probably a long time before that as well.” She folded her hands on her lap.
“It’s a not completely unexpected story, but it’s quite a clever one. Back then, trade was much less regulated. Countries wanted to build their exports and only import things they needed, and often the two goals didn’t match up. Setting up a trading triangle corrected these inequities.”
Pierce’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Well,” continued Felicia. “Let’s say you had lots of sugar to export. Some other country, a Caribbean island perhaps, needed the sugar to make rum. But you were a teetotaler and didn’t want to import rum, which you couldn’t sell. What would happen? The rum would be exported to a country that did need it. That country, perhaps an African nation—as was the case all too often—would pay for the rum by sending you slaves. You needed slaves to continue harvesting the sugar and could sell them at a really nice profit. And thus the trade triangle was created.” She paused. “Do you see how it works?”
Pierce nodded. “Clever.”
Dusk agreed. “Somebody really put some time into working that one out.”
“It’s also very profitable.” Felicia’s lip curled a bit. “And ongoing. Make no mistake. We may, as a nation, decry the practice of slavery, and of course it’s been illegal since the Abolition Act was passed in the thirties. But at this very moment some vessels with prominent names attached to them are currently on their way to Africa with crates of cargoes. Probably cotton fabric or something. All perfectly legitimate and purchased from a solid British manufacturer who was quite pleased with his profits.”
Minnie frowned. “That doesn’t sound unusual. Is it?”
“Oh yes.” Felicia looked at her, blue eyes dark now as she told the story. “Those goods, very much needed by those African countries, will be welcomed with open arms and the proceeds will stimulate the economy. Shortly after they arrive, a few more ships will sail from Africa to the Americas. Most likely to ports in the south. Their cargo is a human one, purchased with the proceeds from the sale of those British-made goods. Slaves for the cotton fields will be sold at a profit in America. The cotton will be harvested and shipped back to Liverpool or wherever, and sold once more at a profit to the mills themselves. And the cycle continues.”
“But at no time does anyone here soil their hands with slavery.” Pierce whistled through his teeth. “Damned clever.”
“You’d be surprised if you knew some of the names who are reaping the profits.” Felicia’s mouth turned down. “It’s really a tragedy.”
“Thankfully, Dalrymple doesn’t travel those routes.” Minnie nibbled on her lower lip as she mentally reviewed her shipping interests. “And our cargoes…well, let’s just say we have a reputation for being honorable. We obey the laws of England. And if I ever learn that any of my ships have trafficked in human cargo…”
Pierce leaned over and once again clasped her hand. “Easy. You don’t have to even try to clarify that, Minnie.”
She swallowed down a lump of fury. “Thank you. I know you all understand. It just makes me very angry when something as vital as trade is corrupted and abused. And people profit from it.”
Felicia shrugged. “You may not want to hear this, Minnie, but I’ve heard Sir Roger Lutterson’s name mentioned in connection with something like this.”
Minnie’s head jerked up. “Good Lord. Is that where he gets his money? I did wonder. That family’s been in and out of bankruptcy for several generations.”
“I ran across a remote connection some time ago when I was looking into another company’s affiliation with some…inappropriate trades. Lutterson’s name was there, but not as anyone controlling the scheme. He may be making some money from it as an investor, but he’s not masterminding it.”
“Too busy buying himself a seat in the Commons with it.” Pierce sounded ironic.
“I’m so glad I moved on.” Minnie shuddered. “He’s a reasonably intelligent chap when he’s not being a politician. And quite good company. But definitely someone I’m happy to say is in my past.”
Dusk, who had listened quietly to the conversation, now offered a comment. “This is a fascinating story, Mrs. Armitage. But I’m not sure I see how it relates to our murdered young women.”
Minnie noticed the warmth that flickered over Felicia’s face as she turned to Dusk. Something was certainly afoot there. She was rather glad. Her friend deserved some fun. She pushed the thought aside for the moment and concentrated on Felicia’s words.
“I find myself wondering about these girls. We know that some bodies have washed up. But what if they were the
minority? For some reason, one or two or three girls were disposed of over the side of a ship. What about the rest? Where did they go?”
Pierce stared at Felicia, looking as stunned as Minnie felt. He was the first to recover his voice. “You’re talking white slavery.”
She nodded. “It’s a possibility.”
“God.” Minnie blinked.
“Think about it,” said Felicia. “Whoever has the money makes it known he wants…let’s say half a dozen girls over the space of a month or so. Not impossible and probably not noticed if they arrive singly or in pairs. They’re ferried out to a ship and taken somewhere that is happy to accept white prostitutes in trade. In their turn, they send something somewhere else, and somewhere else is sending something back here to England.”
“Drugs?” Dusk asked the question in a quiet voice. “It’s no secret there’s a growing market for opium. Hashish from the Middle East maybe. Or coca leaves. There’s a lot of work going on in Europe on that substance, I believe.”
“Could be.” Felicia nodded approvingly. “I must add that I’m finding this conversation exceedingly stimulating. Frightening, but stimulating. I’d forgotten how thrilling it could be to talk to people who use all their brains instead of just a tiny part.” She laughed and the tension eased.
Which, thought Minnie, had been exactly her purpose. They were talking of things that could easily manifest as nightmares. A little humor was a very good thing and Felicia knew just how and when to stir it into the mix.
“I’m inclined to accept Felicia’s theory.” Pierce stroked his chin idly, losing himself in his thoughts for a minute or two. “If we take it further, there are a few things which will help us confirm her notions.” He held up his fingers. “First, we need to see if we can dig up anything about women coming into Cowes over the past couple of weeks. That’s a long shot, but you never know.”
Minnie nodded but said nothing.
“Secondly, find out what—if anything—links the earlier cases to ours.” He folded down the second finger. “And third, we need to find out all we can about the Godolphin aerodrome project.”
“Why?” The question popped from Minnie’s mouth before she even realized she’d spoken.
He turned to her and waggled his eyebrows. “Because, dear Minnie, my piece of news is this.” He tapped a paper. “I learned from my contacts this morning that the ship we saw a few nights ago, anchored off the coast…” He paused dramatically. “It’s chartered by Godolphin Industries. Supposedly carrying equipment for the new aerodrome. And its point of embarkation is Rotterdam.”
“Hmm.” She thought about that.
“It’s a rather thin association but how about this.” Felicia straightened in her chair. “White women, from our shores.” She, in turn, ticked off a finger for each point. “Destination…let’s say Egypt. Cairo perhaps, since it’s large enough to handle a lot of trade. And white women probably command a healthy price there, since it’s at the crossroads of the Middle East.” Another finger folded down. “From Cairo to Rotterdam. The cargo? Could be diamonds, could be gold. Could even be hashish or coca leaves. Egypt has little control over its trading practices at the moment.” The last finger went down. “And finally, from Rotterdam back here. To the Godolphin project. Machinery? Chemicals? I don’t know. But at no time has money changed hands in regard to those women who vanish. So nobody gets dirty or breaks the law by doing anything that could be construed as slave trading.”
Pierce shook his head then stood, reaching into Felicia’s lap, grabbing her hand and kissing it. “Good God, Felicia. That’s a damned fine construction of a devious and frighteningly efficient scheme.”
“Thank you. I think.” Felicia grinned. “Helps to have a devious mind, I suppose.”
Minnie chuckled at the disgruntled expression on Dusk’s face as he watched Pierce and Felicia. His mask only hid half of it. He needed to learn to control the emotions on the other half.
“So we’re agreed this is a workable assumption? It gives us a place to start, anyway.” She looked around to see nods greeting her words.
“Do we need the authorities in on this?” Felicia sounded hesitant. “We’re not trained constables or skilled in this sort of thing. We have no official license to pursue these inquiries.”
“If not us, then who will?” Pierce looked at them all. “We’re here, Johnnies-on-the-spot, whether we like it or not. I don’t intend for any of us to break any laws. If we can simply gather enough information to present to the authorities, I’ll feel quite content. As you say, we’re not professional crime solvers.”
Dusk raised the one eyebrow Minnie could see and stared at Pierce. “Be that as it may, we’re giving a rather good impression of it.”
Felicia chuckled. “Perhaps we should consider a new career choice. The Brass Pluggit Bobbies.”
Minnie’s snort echoed the general laughter. “Nice idea, Felicia. But I think the name needs work.”
Chapter Six
Pierce found himself with a lot on his mind for the rest of that day.
It wasn’t only the framework that Felicia had proposed, intricate and viable though it was. The more he considered it, the more likely it became—at least it accounted for the poor young women who’d met their demise. But then again, there were probably a dozen other scenarios that could be put forward.
It was frustrating to say the least. Every now and again the image of the latest victim’s face would swim across his consciousness. The feel of her cold limp hair as he moved it from around her neck…his skin crawled at the memories and his anger rose once more at whoever had snuffed out a life.
Something, some hunch or intuition or sixth sense—whatever he cared to call it—niggled at the back of his head. It told him that they were on the right track. That the loose ends could indeed be woven into a cloth that might not be whole, but at least be something deserving the word clue.
Because right at this moment, clues were damn few and far between. He’d remembered the shipping tables, and after dinner they’d looked them over. Godolphin did indeed have an interest in the one Pierce and Minnie had seen anchored off shore. It was right there on the schedule. The Ahira, port of origin listed as Rotterdam. Her cargo was apparently heavy equipment, her departure date scheduled for next week.
Sadly, the records only covered the previous two weeks and four weeks ahead. London probably had copies going back to the Vikings, but Yarmouth didn’t. So there was no way to make any connection earlier than two weeks before. Not much help there.
And yet the ships and the ocean were the two common threads that clearly asserted themselves. Dead bodies washed up on the shores, obviously not accidental deaths. They could only have come from the sea. Thus—they must have been on ships.
He sighed and pushed away from his desk, aware that he’d lost himself too long in this puzzle. He needed to relax. A glance at the clock on the wall, however, and relaxation was suddenly the furthest thing from his mind.
Minnie. Tonight.
Together.
He’d done his best to push the possibilities aside. His sexual activities, important though they were to him, were nothing as compared to multiple murders. So he’d compartmentalized his priorities and worked through the day.
But now that compartment with Minnie’s name on it was starting to weaken. The door was bowing and his need clawing hungrily to be let out. It was full dark, lit only by the rhythmic sweep of the light above him.
His rooms were directly below the light itself, so some over-splash was inevitable. But Pierce had never found it intrusive or disturbing. It was more comforting than anything else. He was tucked safely up beneath a device that protected mariners.
Not a bad way to spend the night. Although there were better.
And with any luck, one of those was about to come to pass.
He decided on a shower, rushed through it, slipped into his dressing gown and proceeded to pace. Everyone had retired for the night, and he found himself wond
ering if Minnie had remembered their conversation. It was quiet. So quiet.
Had it ever been quite this quiet before? Pierce wasn’t sure. The windows in his suite were not as plentiful as the floor below, but he still had several large ones looking seaward. The coastline was attractive, but there was nothing quite like the ocean at night and it was his view of choice.
The water was, like the interior of the Brass Pluggit, quiet. There were clouds building—they’d been gathering during the day but now they promised they meant business. The light swept rhythmically across the sea, illuminating a surface barely rippling until a fair distance out toward the dark horizon.
It was one of those moments when Pierce knew a storm was brewing somewhere. And a tiny flash of light way off over the ocean confirmed his assumption. It glittered from the enormous brass bed that dominated the room.
Then it twinkled over the handles of the dark mahogany bureau, the matching Piers glass and a small desk. It dusted the richly hued oriental carpet, illuminating the colors for a heartbeat.
When it was gone, the room darkened once more. Pierce hadn’t lit lamps. He wasn’t quite sure why, but he felt the darkness would be more comfortable for this first time between them. Perhaps he was catering to a masculine notion about women, sex and modesty.
He thought of Minnie and shook his head. No, she wouldn’t be modest.
He was most likely worried she’d find him lacking or unappealing. Perhaps he’d fail to measure up to her previous lovers. Or, God forbid, Roger Lutterson.
Once again he shook his head. He’d seen Roger Lutterson naked in school. The colorful expression “needle dick” had fit. Whether he’d grown or not, Pierce neither knew nor cared. And he had no business worrying about Roger Lutterson’s sexual equipment—he should be focusing on how he could best use his own to make this night memorable for Minnie.
He opened one window a little, wanting to hear the soft shush of the sea as it kissed the land. Tonight it was indeed a soft kiss, a barely discernable whisper. If the storm blew in to their portion of the coast, that whisper could well become a brutal smash of water against cliff. But for now, it was a sensual caress and befitting the events ahead.