Why Mermaids Sing

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.

“If my reading of this situation is correct, yes.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I looked into some of the names on that list. Mr. Felix Atkinson has two children, a son named Anthony and a younger daughter. Mr. and Mrs. Dunlop have three children. They’re why I am here. And why I hope you will do all within your power to catch this madman, whoever he is. Before he strikes again.”

Chapter 41

Sir Humphrey Carmichael was seated at his elegant desk at the Bank, his head bent over some ledgers, when Sebastian walked in and slapped a sheet of paper on the blotter before him.

“What the hell is this?” Carmichael demanded, looking up.

Sebastian went to stand with his back to the window overlooking the street. “It’s a list of the passengers and officers of the Harmony. You do see the pattern, I presume?”

A muscle jumped along Carmichael’s jaw, but he said nothing.

Sebastian leaned against the edge of the windowsill and crossed his arms at his chest. “You didn’t tell me you and Lord Stanton were once shipmates.”

Carmichael settled back in his chair, his lower lip curling in disdain. “What do you think? That I discuss the details of my private life with anyone who should happen to express an interest in them?”

“I think that for once in your life, you’ve found yourself in a situation you can’t control.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you? Did you hear that Captain Bellamy is dead?”

“I had heard.”

“The tale is he fell in the river. I suppose it’s even possible, given the way he’s been drinking lately. But I suspect suicide is the more likely explanation. It must be a difficult thing to live with, knowing your actions in the past have led directly to the death of your only son.”

“Get out,” said Carmichael, his voice shaking with raw anger. “Get out of my office.”

Sebastian stayed where he was, his gaze on the other man’s livid face. “What really happened on that ship?”

“It’s no mystery. The story was in all the papers.”

“Your version of the story.”

“There is no other.”

“Really? That’s not what Jack Parker’s brother says. You do remember Jack Parker, don’t you? Your testimony helped to hang him. Except it seems that according to Jack Parker, Lord Jarvis’s son, David, wasn’t hurt in the mutiny after all. David Jarvis was alive and well when the crew left the ship.”

Carmichael shoved to his feet. “They left us to starve. How can you believe anything one of those blackguards said?”

“Men with a rope around their necks don’t usually lie.”

Carmichael calmly resumed his seat and pulled the ledger toward him. “I’m a busy man, my lord. Kindly close the door on your way out.”

Sebastian pushed away from the windowsill. But he paused at the door to look back and say, “By the way, you wouldn’t happen to remember the name of the Harmony’s cabin boy, would you?”

Carmichael’s head came up, all color slowly draining from his face. He sucked in a deep breath, but all he said was, “No. No, I wouldn’t.”

Sebastian was leaving the Bank, headed up Threadneedle Street, when he heard his father’s deep baritone call peremptorily, “Devlin.”

Sebastian looked around as the Earl’s ponderous town carriage drew up, its crested door swinging open. “Step up,” said Hendon. “I’d like a word with you.” As if sensing Sebastian’s hesitation, Hendon growled, “This isn’t about your bloody aunt Henrietta and her matrimonial machinations. Now step up, will you?”

Sebastian laughed and leapt up beside his father.

“Why didn’t you tell me someone tried to kill you on the Thames the other day?” Hendon demanded without preamble.

“How did you hear about that?”

Hendon pressed his lips together in a tight frown. “It’s because of what you were asking about the other day. These murders. Isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Hendon’s chest swelled. “Damn it, Devlin. What kind of pastime is this for a man of your birth and station?