The Deception At Lyme

“That is an excellent suggestion.”

Captain Wentworth went to a side table upon which rested a decanter. Above it hung a print of the Victory leading the British fleet at Trafalgar, its sails full and its course unwavering. On another wall hung two paintings of individual ships—a sleek frigate and an older sloop. Maps and nautical instruments also adorned the walls and shelves. Darcy recognized some items, such as a compass, but could not begin to guess the purpose of others. The entire chamber, with its oak paneling and solid furniture, created the impression of a captain’s cabin. Even the windows offered a view of the sea, and Darcy wondered whether Wentworth had chosen this room as his study for that reason.

“Do you miss the sea?” Darcy asked.

“I do.” Wentworth removed the stopper from the decanter. “However,” he said, with a grin, “I have found marriage a highly agreeable alternative to living on a warship full of men. And should I become too sentimental about nautical life, Alfred now wakes me during the night as regularly as a ship’s bell. Perhaps I should assign him the middle watch, so he can earn his keep.”

Darcy recalled how disruptive—though joyful—Lily-Anne’s arrival had been in their own household, despite their having had, like the Wentworths, the assistance of nurses, and despite, unlike the Wentworths, their having had months in which to prepare for their new condition as parents. “Alfred joined your household rather suddenly.”

The wine poured, Captain Wentworth replaced the decanter and picked up the two glasses. “Indeed, I thought Mrs. Wentworth and I would enjoy a little more time to ourselves before having a child to care for. I do not, however, regret our decision to take him.” He glanced at the print of Admiral Nelson’s flagship before turning and handing one of the glasses to Darcy. “‘England expects every man to do his duty,’” he said with a shrug. “Sometimes duty calls with a softer voice, and is performed in less dramatic ways.”

“Were you at Trafalgar?”

“No, though like nearly every sailor who served in the year five, I wish I could say I was. The biggest battle I saw was the action off San Domingo a few months later. That day made me a commander.” He gestured toward the painting of the sloop, and a nostalgic expression crossed his countenance. “My first ship was that little sloop— the Asp—and I was sent straight back to the West Indies in her.”

“My cousin served in the West Indies, aboard the Magna Carta.”

“Indeed? What is his name?”

“Gerard Fitzwilliam. He died in action about three years ago.”

“The war claimed the lives of many good men,” Captain Wentworth said. “I am sorry that your cousin was among them.”

“So am I. He had just been made lieutenant, and looked forward to a glorious career.” Darcy paused. “Actually, I wonder if I might ask your assistance in a matter pertaining to him.”

“What sort of assistance?”

“I have questions regarding the circumstances of his death. There seem to be … irregularities in written and oral accounts that I have been unable to reconcile. However, my own ignorance of naval protocol and routines might lead me to imagine improprieties where none exist.”

“That is entirely possible. A ship is its own floating domain, one that no outsider can fully comprehend without having spent time aboard. Tell me your concerns.”

Wentworth listened as Darcy recounted what he knew of Gerard’s time aboard the Magna Carta—the little information his family had been given at the time of his death, Lieutenant St. Clair’s personal but belated delivery of his sea chest, Darcy’s discovery of the diary and pendant, his recent conversations with St. Clair and Captain Tourner. Wentworth asked occasional questions, his brow becoming increasingly furrowed. When Darcy had done, Wentworth refilled their wineglasses.

“You initiated this discussion by saying that you had questions about your cousin’s death, but a substantial portion of what you have told me pertains to the mysterious appearance of the gold figurines, not the battle.” The captain returned Darcy’s glass to him. “I take this to mean that you suspect the events are related—that your cousin, and perhaps the cook, did not die in legitimate melee with the French, but by the hand of one of their own shipmates?”

“Based on my limited knowledge, I believe it is possible that the battle provided an opportunity for the owner of those artifacts to ensure their existence remained a secret. From what I have told you, do you concur?”

“Unless naval victuals have improved exceedingly since I was in the West Indies, I would certainly describe gold idols in a sugar cask as irregular. One certainly wants to know how they came to be there.”

“Is there any reason someone with a rightful purpose for possessing the objects would hide them in a sugar cask rather than in his sea chest or among his other possessions?”

Wentworth thought a moment. “There is not much privacy on a ship. While officers enjoy more than the men, even an admiral’s belongings are packed up and his furniture moved to the hold in preparation for a battle. An officer’s cabin is dismantled—canvas walls removed, chests and furnishings stowed—to entirely clear the deck for the gun crews. Seamen’s hammocks are rolled up and put to other use, and even when not in battle, several messmates might share a sea chest. So no matter what a man’s rank, there is a great deal of moving things about, by many hands, and not under the immediate supervision of their owners, who are performing their own duties. Whereas items secured in the hold or on the orlop deck, where an officer’s stores would be, stay put until needed or until the voyage ends. So I suppose it is possible that someone might believe treasures such as you describe would be safer in storage.” He paused. “But were they mine, I would secure them in a locked chest.”

“Then I think we can assume that their owner did not come by them honestly, which means their discovery was a threat.”

“Even so, it is a great leap from theft to murder. In the navy, murder is one of the few crimes punishable by death—usually hanging.”

“Is that not all the more reason why the mayhem of battle would provide an ideal opportunity for a thief fearing exposure to commit one—or two—with little risk of being caught? And is it not further possible that in the fervor of battle, if a chance to silence someone who knew too much suddenly presented itself, the thief might seize it without pausing to consider the consequences?”

“It is,” Wentworth conceded. “But we also cannot dismiss the possibility that however wrongfully the artifacts might have come to be in that cask, the deaths of your cousin and the cook could have been the legitimate result of battle.”

“I agree. I am not seeking an individual to blame for my cousin’s death if no one is guilty of it. The French collectively provide a sufficient object of resentment. And in truth, I would rather remember Gerard as having died for the preservation of England, than for private greed. However, if this discovery cost him his life … I want to know.”

“You and Mrs. Darcy saved my godson’s life; the least I can do is help you put to rest questions about your cousin’s death. I suppose we should begin with who beyond Lieutenant Fitzwilliam and the cook knew about the idols.”

“Lieutenant St. Clair, who allegedly was going to raise the issue with the captain after his dinner guests left the ship.”

“Have you directly asked Lieutenant St. Clair or Captain Tourner about the artifacts?”

“I thought it best not to betray my knowledge of them.”

Wentworth nodded. “That was prudent, until we have a better sense of what—and whom—we are dealing with. I know Tourner by reputation only, and St. Clair not at all. Did the latter mention other captains under whom he has served?”

“Only a Captain Croft, who I understand is an admiral now.”

“Yes, he is rear admiral of the white—and my brother-in-law. Did St. Clair serve under him as a lieutenant?”

“A midshipman.”

“Croft should be able to give us a better sense of St. Clair’s character—at least, St. Clair in his younger years. Naval life can change a man. He might also be familiar with Captain Tourner. As luck would have it, Mrs. Wentworth and I will see the Crofts this week; I can speak to the admiral then. Now, who else might have known about the gold figures?”

Gerard’s diary had not indicated that any other individuals learned of them from him or the cook. Darcy