Why Mermaids Sing: A Sebastian St. Cyr Mystery

by C. S. Harris

Tom’s grin widened. “You don’t want to know.”

  “Perhaps you’re right.” Sebastian turned toward the garden gate, but paused to say, “Now, if you could just find me a valet…”

  Tom laughed. “I’m workin’ on it, gov’nor. I’m workin’ on it.”

  The Hare and Hound was a nondescript, ramshackle pub reached through a narrow passage between an apothecary and a chandler’s.

  Sebastian pushed his way through a noisy crowd to the bar. He’d taken care to dress for the occasion in a shabby-genteel coat, hat, and breeches that formed part of his collection from Rosemary Lane. And still he was conscious of curious, vaguely hostile eyes upon him as he ordered a pint. Strangers were never welcome in such establishments.

  Sipping his ale in thoughtful silence, Sebastian let his gaze drift around the dim room. The Hare and Hound appeared popular with men from the docks: sailors in blue flannel shirts and dockers in rough smocks. Sebastian was starting on his second tankard of ale when a group of dockers came in, big men with broad shoulders and beefy arms. Sebastian listened to their good-natured banter and soon picked out a sandy-haired giant with a badly scarred cheek the other men addressed as “Parker.”

  Sebastian returned his attention to his ale. The dockers played a game of darts, which Parker won. Sebastian ordered another pint, then looked around to find Matt Parker beside him.

  “You watchin’ me fer some reason?” Parker demanded, his light brown eyes narrowed with hostility.

  “Actually, yes.” Sebastian signaled for another pint. “I’d like to talk to you about your brother.”

  “Jack?” Parker’s eyebrows drew together in a suspicious frown.

  “Yes.”

  “And who the devil might you be?”

  “My name is Devlin,” said Sebastian, making no attempt to disguise the crisp, upper-crust tones of his speech.

  Parker made a rude noise. “You sound like a bloody nob. What would a nob want with the likes of gallows bait like Jack?”

  Sebastian considered offering the man money, then decided against it. There was a proud edge to the docker’s bearing that told Sebastian the gesture would not be well received. “I understand your brother went to his death insisting the men who testified at his trial lied,” said Sebastian.

  “So? That was over four years ago now. No one ever paid it no heed before.”

  The bar maid plunked a frothing tankard of ale on the planks beside them. Sebastian pushed the tankard toward Parker. “That was before.”

  The docker left the ale untouched. “It’s because of these murders, ain’t it? First Carmichael, then Stanton. Now Bellamy.”

  “You’re forgetting Nicholas Thornton.”

  “Thornton?” A flicker of confusion showed in the other man’s eyes.

  “Last Easter, down in Kent.”

  “I didn’t hear about him. Don’t remember no Thornton at the trial, either.” Parker’s tongue flicked out to moisten his lips. Absently reaching for the tankard, he brought the ale to his mouth and drank deeply.

  “You’re Bow Street, ain’t you?” he said, setting the tankard down with a snap. There was dawning comprehension and fear in his eyes now—the fear of a man whose words have come back to haunt him. “You’re here because o’ them things I said at the hanging—about revenge and all. It was just talk. You hear? Wild talk. Jack was my little brother. He didn’t do nothin’ wrong. The mutiny weren’t his idea. He didn’t even take part in it. The other sailors, they give him a choice—come with them, or stay and die. Who wouldn’t go? Is that any reason to hang a man?” Parker paused, his face slack with grief. “He was just seventeen years old, you know. Seventeen.”

  “No. I didn’t know.” Sebastian leaned forward. “Your brother maintained until the end that the men who testified at the trial lied. What about?”

  Matt Parker drained his tankard, but shook his head when Sebastian moved to order another. “That David Jarvis—him whose father is cousin to the King. They said the lad was hurt in the mutiny. Said one of the crew members stabbed him in the side with a cutlass.” Parker shook his head. “It weren’t so. That young nob was just fine when the crew left the ship.”

  Parker dropped his voice and leaned in close. “Something happened on that ship when they was adrift. You think on what’s been done to these murdered young gentlemen’s bodies, and you’ll know what I’m talkin’ about.”

  Straightening, he was silent for a moment, his head turned as if he stared at something in the distance. Then his jaw hardened and he brought his gaze back to Sebastian’s face. “You’re right about one thing: I did swear to see all them titled buggers pay for what they done to Jack. But I’m a God-fearing man, and somehow I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I figure the good Lord’ll take care of them in His own way.” A quiver of distaste passed over the docker’s scarred features. “Whoever’s doing this—whoever is butchering those men’s children—I’d say he’s got a father’s anger in him and a father’s hurt.”

  Parker put his wrists together and held them out like a man surrendering to the law. “You can arrest me right now and take me in, but the killin’ won’t stop. Whoever’s doin’ this, he’s damned himself to hell, and he knows it. He won’t stop until he’s killed them all.”

  “How many others were there?”

  “I don’t know,” said Parker, his face unexpectedly pale. “Only Stanton, Carmichael, and Bellamy testified at the trial. But there were others, passengers and officers both. And God help their children.”

  “So now you know,” said Kat softly, as they lay talking in each other’s arms later that night. “You wondered what kind of secret could be so terrible that men would willingly put their own children at risk rather than reveal it. If what Matt Parker says is true, the survivors of the Harmony didn’t just commit cannibalism. They also caused the death of Jarvis’s only son.”

  Sebastian entwined his hand with hers and brought it to his lips. They’d made love slowly and sweetly, and still the feeling he’d had for days persisted—that gnawing certainty that something was terribly wrong. He just didn’t know what. And he knew the fear of all lovers that he could lose her. Again.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked, and it took him a moment to realize she was talking about the investigation.

  He shifted his weight. “I think I’m going to pay another call on Captain Edward Bellamy.”

  “Do you honestly think he’ll tell you what happened?”

  “No. But he sure as hell can’t have forgotten the name of his own cabin boy—if what Yates told you is right.”

  “You think the killer is the boy’s father?”

  Sebastian ran a hand down her naked side in a gentle caress. “Either him or Jarvis.”

  Kat was silent for a moment. Then she said in an odd, tight voice, “I can imagine Jarvis ordering those young men killed and mutilated.”

  Sebastian lifted his head to look at her. Even in the soft light of the flickering candles, she seemed pale and drawn. Yet he could find nothing to say or do to successfully encourage her to confide in him. “Yes. Except it doesn’t fit somehow. How could Jarvis have found out what happened on that ship? And why not move against the men directly? God knows he’s powerful enough.”

  “Jarvis has spies all over the country,” Kat countered, sitting up. “How could the simple father of some dead cabin boy have found out what happened on that ship?”

  Sebastian sighed and drew her back down to him. “I don’t know. Perhaps when we find out who he was, we’ll have the answer.”

  Chapter 39

  FRIDAY, 20 SEPTEMBER 1811

  The next day, Sebastian was reading the Morning Post while consuming a light breakfast in his morning room when he suddenly let out a crude oath.

  “Is something wrong with the eggs, my lord?” asked his majordomo, starting forward.

  “What?” Sebastian looked up, puzzled. “Oh. No, the eggs are fine, Morey. Thank you.”

  Shoving the plate aside, Sebastian tu
rned his attention to the news article on page three: RETIRED GREENWICH SEA CAPTAIN FOUND DEAD IN RIVER.

  The church bells were tolling a death knell when Sebastian drove into the outskirts of Greenwich.

  Leaving the chestnuts in Tom’s care, Sebastian let himself in the garden gate at the end of the long walk. He glanced up at the spreading limbs of the old oak, but the child Francesca was not there today.

  With an oddly troubled heart, he mounted the steps to the house. He half expected the Captain’s young widow to decline to see him. But he sent up the name he’d given her before, Mr. Simon Taylor, and after a few moments, the little housemaid Gilly returned to tell him Mrs. Bellamy would receive him.

  She half sat, half lay upon a sofa drawn up so she could look out over the gleaming expanse of the river sliding past the house. At Sebastian’s appearance, she tucked the black-edged handkerchief she’d been clutching up her sleeve. The ravages left by her tears were obvious.

  “My apologies for intruding upon you at such a time,” said Sebastian, bowing over her hand. “Please accept my condolences for your newest loss.”

  She did not seem to notice the subtle differences in his appearance and attire. She simply nodded, swallowing as if unable to speak for a moment, then gestured to a nearby chair. “Plees have a seat, Mr. Taylor. What may I do for you?”

  Sebastian hesitated. According to the article in the Post, Bellamy was believed to have fallen into the water and drowned after suffering some sort of seizure while walking along the river. To Sebastian, it seemed improbable. But how do you ask a woman if her husband committed suicide?

  He said instead, “What can you tell me about your husband’s last voyage, on the Harmony?”

  The question did not seem to surprise her. She brought up one fist to press her knuckles against her lips, and Sebastian found himself wondering how much of the truth the Captain had confided to his wife. “It preyed upon him always, that voyage,” she said in a strained voice. “Not simply the loss of the ship, but the mutiny of the crew and those long, horrible days without food. He never got over it.”

  “It ruined his career,” said Sebastian.

  “Yes. But I often thought there was more to it than that. Such terrible dreams he would have. He’d wake up screaming, as if he’d looked into the very jaws of hell, calling that poor boy’s name.”

  “What boy?” Sebastian asked sharply.

  “Gideon, the cabin boy.” She hesitated, then shook her head. “If I ever knew his last name, I’ve forgotten it. He died, you see, before they were rescued.”

  “What about the other young man who died? David Jarvis. Did your husband ever mention him?”

  “Sometimes. But not nearly so often. I believe Gideon reminded my husband of Adrian at that age. I often thought my husband blamed himself for the boy’s death.”

  “Why is that?”

  She looked confused. “Because he failed to keep the boy out of harm’s way, I suppose.”

  She pleated the skirt of her mourning gown with shaking fingers. “He’d been particularly obsessed about the cabin boy’s death these past few months.” She hesitated, then added softly, “He began drinking far more heavily than before.”

  “Was he drinking heavily last night?”

  She nodded, her lips pressed tightly together. Sebastian watched her swing her head away to stare out over the river. He supposed it was possible the old Captain had staggered into the river and been too drunk to haul himself out. But Sebastian doubted it.

  “What will you do now?” he asked her. “Return to Brazil?”

  She shook her head. “My father disowned me when I married Bellamy and followed him here to England. Besides, this is the only home Francesca has ever known.”

  “How is she taking it?”

  The widow sighed. “Badly. First Adrian, now her father. It’s too much.”

  Rising, Sebastian slipped one of his cards from his pocket and laid it on the table. “If there is anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to contact me.” Of course, the name on the card—his own name and title—did not match the name he had given her. But now was not the time to explain it to her.

  “I’ll see myself out,” he said, and left her still staring silently out the window.

  At the gate, he glanced back at the house’s crepe-draped facade. He saw a flash at one of the third-story nursery windows—a child’s pale face pressed for an instant against the panes. Then it was gone.

  Chapter 40

  Sebastian was in his library, glancing through the credentials of another round of applicants for the position of valet, when Morey knocked discreetly at the door.

  “A young lady to see you, my lord.”

  Sebastian looked up in surprise. “A young lady?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  For a lady of quality to visit the home of an unmarried man was considered a serious breach of etiquette. Sebastian pushed to his feet. “Show her in immediately.”

  A tall young woman wearing a heavy veil swept into the room. She waited until the majordomo had bowed himself out, then thrust back her veil to reveal the no-nonsense features of Miss Hero Jarvis.

  “Good God,” said Sebastian before he could stop himself.

  A breath of amusement flickered across her face. “Just so,” she said crisply, jerking off her fine kid gloves. “Believe me, Lord Devlin, I am as appalled to be here as you are to have me. However, when I considered the alternatives, it soon became apparent that this was by far the simplest course. No one who knows either of us will give a moment’s serious credence to any rumors that may arise should my visit here become known, which it will not. My maid awaits me in the entrance hall.”

  Sebastian blinked, then stretched out one hand to indicate the nearest sofa. “Please, have a seat.”

  “Thank you, but I have no intention of tarrying longer than necessary.” Untying the strings of her reticule, she drew forth several sheets of paper, folded and worn as if with repeated readings.

  “What is that?” he asked warily.

  She held the folded pages out to him. “A letter written by my brother, David, and mailed from Cape Town. The Harmony docked there for minor repairs on the voyage home from India, and David entrusted the letter to an officer on a frigate that sailed before them. Look at it,” she said impatiently, when he hesitated.

  Taking the letter from her hand, he flipped it open. Dearest Hero, he read, then paused to glance up at her. “Why are you giving this to me?”

  To his surprise, she tweaked the letter from his grasp. “I’m not. I simply thought it best that you actually see it so that you would have no doubt as to its existence. What I am giving you is this.” She drew another paper from her reticule. This time, he took it promptly.

  He found himself staring at a list of names written in a different scrawl he took to be Miss Jarvis’s own. He threw her a quizzical look, then glanced quickly through the list. Some of the names—Lord Stanton, Sir Humphrey Carmichael, the Reverend and Mrs. Thornton—he recognized. Others he did not.

  “My brother was a keen and enthusiastic observer of his fellow men,” she was saying. “His letter contained delightful vignettes on each and every one of his fellow passengers and the Harmony’s officers. That is a listing of their names.”

  Sebastian brought his gaze back to her aquiline face. “How did you know I wanted this?”

  “I am my father’s daughter,” she said enigmatically.

  Grunting, he ran through the list again. It was divided into two sections labeled Passengers and Officers. Along with the names of the passengers he already knew were four he did not: Elizabeth Ware, Mr. and Mrs. Dunlop, and Felix Atkinson.

  Elizabeth Ware must have been the spinster of uncertain age, he realized. Mr. and Mrs. Dunlop would be the couple with estates in the North, while Mr. Felix Atkinson, surely, was the gentleman from the East India Company.

  Beneath the heading Officers were three names: Joseph Canning, Elliot Fairfax, and Francis Hillard. At
the very bottom was written Gideon, cabin boy. Sebastian swore softly under his breath.

  “What is it?” asked Miss Jarvis.

  “The cabin boy’s last name. You don’t know it?”

  “No. David referred to him only as ‘Gideon.’” Her brows drew together in a light frown. “He’s important. Why?”

  Sebastian looked into her haughty, disdainful face, and somehow overcame the urge to answer her question. Folding the list, he tucked it into his pocket, then stood regarding her quizzically. “I still don’t understand why you brought the list directly to me rather than simply giving it to your father.”

  To his surprise, she looked vaguely discomfited. Twitching the skirt of her dusky blue walking dress with one hand, she said airily, “It so happens that my father is unaware of the letter’s existence. It would serve no purpose for him to learn of it now. I trust you will not mention it to him.”

  Sebastian leaned back against his desk and folded his arms at his chest, his gaze on Miss Jarvis’s face. As he watched, an unexpected tide of color touched her cheeks. And he found himself wondering what else David Jarvis had written in that letter to his sister that she was unwilling to allow either Sebastian or her own father to read its contents.

  As if aware of his train of thought, she said, “My brother was a very sensitive young man. He knew our father found him…disappointing. I don’t believe I need to say more.”

  Her words awakened uncomfortable memories from Sebastian’s own youth, memories of Hendon’s palpable disappointment in his heir during the long, painful years following the deaths of Cecil and Richard. “No,” said Sebastian, pushing away from the desk. “You’ve no need to say more. And I won’t mention the letter to his lordship. Now don’t you think it’s time you collected your maid and ran away?”

  Lowering her veil, she turned to go, then hesitated to say, “I know my father believes me to be in danger.”

  “You disagree?” said Sebastian, surprised.