The Deception At Lyme

“Why would he not engage?”

“That, I could not determine. The only person who knows with certainty is Captain Tourner himself. And perhaps his second-in-command: Lieutenant St. Clair.”

Twenty-Seven

“Nothing can exceed the accommodations of a man-of-war; I speak, you know, of the higher rates. When you come to a frigate, of course, you are more confined.”

—Mrs. Croft, Persuasion

The grandest vessel Lyme’s shipyards had ever produced, the Black Cormorant was a source of pride even to those who had not toiled at her creation. Built to cross oceans and return with exotic goods, she possessed the size and strength of a small warship. Her holds were spacious enough to carry the large cargos required to make transatlantic voyages worthwhile, and her deck would eventually bear cannons enough to protect them.

It was a morning launch, the timing dictated not by any human creature’s convenience, but the tide. The ocean lapped onto the shore, as if reaching to draw in its newest pearl. When the water had come in as far as it could, the ship would be released to meet it.

All Lyme, it seemed, had turned out for the event. Visitors and residents, mariners and merchants, gentlemen and ladies, young and old, all crowded the shore to witness her first entry into the sea that would carry her to lands most of those gathered would never look upon, save in their own imaginations. Even the excise men took a break from their work, leaving the Customs House to observe the proceedings—probably calculating in their minds how much revenue would be generated by the merchantman’s cargo holds when full.

Elizabeth, Darcy, and Georgiana recognized numerous people; Lily-Anne had come, too, but had a far more restricted circle of acquaintance. Thankfully, while the adults scanned the crowd for individuals they knew, the toddler was content to quietly observe the busy scene from her father’s arms. The Harvilles and their sons were some distance away, separated from the Darcys by too many people to allow for any greeting more personal than a wave. Sir Walter and Miss Elliot, their black mourning clothes a somber—though, of course, elegant—contrast to the more festive attire of those around them, surveyed the scene with an air of royalty looking down upon the masses. Elizabeth also spotted Mr. Sawyer, the surgeon who had attended Mrs. Clay. She had yet to sight the Wentworths.

“I do not see Miss Ashford,” Georgiana said. “She told me that she planned to come.”

“Perhaps she is watching from the other side of the ship,” Elizabeth said. She speculated that Georgiana’s disappointment more likely derived from the absence of the brother who would accompany Miss Ashford, but she kept the thought to herself as Georgiana continued to survey the spectators.

“Mr. Elliot has secured himself a position close to the proceedings,” Darcy observed.

Elizabeth followed his gaze to the ship. Mr. Elliot stood near the bow, the end farthest from the water. Between him and the vessel, a cluster of yard workers made some sort of preparation to the wooden rails alongside the cradle on which the long hull rested, its bow higher than its stern. At the moment, his back was to the ship as he scanned the crowd.

“Though not quite close enough to be mistaken for, say, one of the owners,” she replied. “I wonder if he is seeking someone in particular. Captain Tourner, perhaps?”

“No—that is Tourner over there.”

Darcy directed her gaze toward a corpulent, weathered man dressed in civilian attire that nevertheless created a naval impression; perhaps it was the gold lace on his cuffs. He stood not far from Mr. Elliot, who surely would have seen him by now were he the individual he sought. The captain was engaged in conversation with the man who appeared to be directing the proceedings.

Mr. Elliot’s gaze traveled until it reached the Darcys. Recognition crossed his countenance, and Elizabeth felt obliged to nod in acknowledgment. “Oh, dear,” she said. “I hope he was not seeking us.”

As Mr. Elliot made a nod of his own, an “Oh!” from Georgiana drew Elizabeth’s attention.

“Here comes Miss Ashford,” Georgiana said, “and Sir Laurence.”

Elizabeth turned round to see the pair not approaching, but already upon them. The baronet greeted them— including Lily-Anne—with his usual congeniality. Elizabeth expected her daughter to flirt with Sir Laurence again, as she so often did when he came to call at the cottage, but apparently she had decided to leave the baronet to her aunt. She burrowed her face into the crook of Darcy’s neck.

Elizabeth apologized to the baronet. “I think she is overwhelmed by all the people.”

“Do not give it another moment’s thought. I am overwhelmed by the number of people here this morning,” Sir Laurence assured her. “We were fortunate to identify your party in the crush.”

“This is indeed quite a crowd,” Georgiana said.

“It is quite a ship,” Sir Laurence replied. “Two years in the building. A thirty-two-gun is not a vessel Lyme sees launched every day.”

“But where are the guns?” Georgiana turned toward the ship. “I do not see any.”

“That is because the ship is not fully fitted out yet,” he said. “She is like a young lady preparing for her coming-out ball. She may already have put on her gown, but her hair must still be arranged, her headdress secured, her gloves, shoes, and jewels donned. Right now she is but half dressed.”

Sir Laurence’s manner toward Georgiana had grown warmer upon each meeting—more attentive, more eager to please. In creating his image of a woman getting dressed, the baronet doubtless had a particular young lady in mind.

The comparison brought a slight flush to Georgiana’s cheeks. She understood him. But instead of demurely changing the subject, as she might have done during their early acquaintance, she looked him straight in the eye. “If she is but half dressed, then why is she going out in public?”

Sir Laurence laughed. “Because she is a very solidly built young lady, and it will be difficult enough to get her out of her chamber without the added weight of all her accessories. She is already wearing some of them, such as her coppering, but imagine the struggle of moving her with a gundeck full of twelve-pounders.”

“She has two gundecks, does she not?” Georgiana turned toward the ship. “Is that not what all those square openings on the sides are? For the cannons to fire through?”

Sir Laurence placed one hand on her shoulder and pointed with the other. “If you look closely, Miss Darcy,” he said softly, “you will notice that she is a clever lady who knows how to dress herself to advantage. The lower row of square doors are not true gun ports, but the work of a skilled painter, creating the illusion of a second deck to discourage rogues who might take inappropriate interest in her.”

He dropped his hand but remained close to her. The contact had been brief—just long enough to direct Georgiana’s attention, ended before Darcy could even intervene—but it had revealed more about the baronet’s intentions toward Georgiana than the baronet had revealed about the gun ports.

Elizabeth glanced at her husband—and in his answering look saw resignation. If Georgiana was receptive to Sir Laurence’s addresses, he was, too.

Sir Laurence was remarkably well informed on the subject of ships, and took obvious pleasure in sharing his knowledge with Georgiana—who took equally obvious delight in receiving it. In fact, he seemed in elevated spirits today as he pointed out additional features of the Black Cormorant to his captivated listener.

Soon, the initiation of the launch drew their collective attention. A few dignitaries said a few words, then the dockworkers moved into position. At the master shipbuilder’s command, the props supporting the stern were knocked away, and amid the cheers of the crowd, the Black Cormorant slid down the rails and into the water. Lily-Anne clapped her hands at the spectacle—as did everybody else assembled.

“What will happen to the ship now?” Georgiana asked.

“That smaller vessel over there will tow her to the quay, where they will finish fitting her out,” Sir Laurence