The Deception At Lyme

his home posthaste. He further requested that they bring the artifact and Lieutenant Fitzwilliam’s diary.

Anne Wentworth herself opened the door to them. “I am glad you were able to come directly. We are gathered in my husband’s study.”

Darcy wondered who “we” comprised. He was kept in suspense by a brief stop in the sitting room, where Mrs. Smith sat alone, wearing a light shawl. When they entered, she was struggling to her feet with the aid of her cane, but sat back down upon recognizing them.

“Oh!” She laughed. “When I heard the door, I thought you were the sedan chair, come early. I expect it this half hour.”

“Are you quite certain you wish to go alone this morning?” Mrs. Wentworth asked. “As I said before, I cannot accompany you just now, but am happy to do so later.”

“No, no—this is my usual time, and I can see you are busy today. I will forgo seabathing this week, with Nurse Rooke visiting her sister in Bath, but I want to sit on the Cobb and take in the air. I will be fine—the chair men will help me to the bench, and come back for me when I specify. Do not give me another thought. You are so good to me, Anne—I wish I could be of more use to you in return, but I can at least be of minimal trouble.”

“Very well, then. But the housekeeper has gone to market, so I will wait with you to let in the chair bearers.”

“I can manage that, too, though I may be slow.”

They compromised on Mrs. Wentworth’s assisting Mrs. Smith to a settee in the front hall, where she could wait within easy distance of the door. When Mrs. Smith was moved, the Darcys and Mrs. Wentworth proceeded to the study.

A uniformed Captain Wentworth and another naval officer—an admiral, by the stripes on his cuffs—were already seated at the round table, but the admiral rose upon the ladies’ entrance. Another officer stood facing the window, and turned upon the Darcys’ arrival.

“Lieutenant St. Clair,” Georgiana blurted.

Darcy, too, was surprised. He had not expected St. Clair to be at liberty until after his court-martial—if then.

“Miss Darcy.” He studied her, searching for something. “You look well,” he said finally. “I hope your health has not suffered as a result of your ordeal?”

“No, I—my health has not suffered.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

Georgiana’s emotional state, however, had certainly been affected. She had not spoken of either Lieutenant St. Clair or Sir Laurence since disembarking the Black Cormorant, and when Sir Laurence had called yesterday to enquire after her, she had declined to see him, pleading fatigue. Darcy did not know what thoughts were presently somersaulting through her mind, but from her expression—hopeful but guarded—he expected she was struggling to understand how any human being could take one life and save another in the same hour. Darcy, too, was having trouble reconciling the man who yesterday had rescued them at great personal risk with what he had learned about St. Clair both before and after the event.

“How is it that you are here?” she asked. “I thought you would be in gaol, or wherever it is that the navy keeps men awaiting court-martial.”

“It is a long story, one that the admiral will explain, and that I wanted you to hear.”

Captain Wentworth introduced the Darcys to the man at his side, Admiral Croft.

“Well, Miss Darcy,” Admiral Croft said after the formalities had been exchanged, “I hear you had quite a time of it the other day. I am glad you are still with us.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Your brother and his wife are here at my request, for I believe they possess information vital to the navy, but as St. Clair said, you are here solely at his.” He motioned them into seats at the table, upon which was spread a map of the West Indies and the Spanish American coast. Mrs. Wentworth took the chair closest to her husband; Elizabeth and Darcy the next two. Georgiana sat to Darcy’s right, beside two empty chairs. St. Clair remained standing near the window.

Admiral Croft also remained standing. “Before I begin, you all must swear to keep secret anything you hear in this room today. In return, I give my assurance that you may speak with full latitude—do not fear that anything you reveal will be used against you or reflect poorly on family members connected with the navy. Further—” He looked at Lieutenant St. Clair with an expression of respect. “I vouch for the character of this young fellow. Whatever accusations have been fired at him or whatever suspicions you may harbor, you can speak as freely before him as you would to me or Captain Wentworth.”

They all gave their promises.

“Thank you.” Admiral Croft again looked at the young officer. “There are many whose lives will depend upon your secrecy.”

Georgiana’s gaze followed the admiral’s. “Including Lieutenant St. Clair?” she asked.

“Actually,” the admiral said, “this gentleman is not Lieutenant St. Clair.”

Thirty-One

“Well, now, you shall hear something that will surprise you.”

—Admiral Croft, Persuasion

“He is Captain St. Clair,” Admiral Croft continued, “and has been for three years. However, none outside the Admiralty know his true rank because he is working for us on special detail, one best performed by an officer who is—or appears to be—a lieutenant.”

All eyes were suddenly upon the newly acknowledged captain. Having spent years of his life deliberately deflecting attention, he now shifted self-consciously under so much of it, all at once.

“Congratulations, Captain,” Wentworth said.

“Thank you,” St. Clair replied, “but pray, do not congratulate me prematurely—I have not yet successfully completed my assignment.”

“You will, my boy,” the admiral said. “We are finally traveling under full sail.” He turned to Darcy. “Captain Wentworth tells me that you recently received a diary belonging to your late cousin, who served with St. Clair on the Magna Carta.”

“I did.” Darcy glanced at St. Clair. “It was in his sea chest.”

“He says that it holds information about a pair of gold artifacts found aboard, and that you have one of them. Captain St. Clair and I would like to see the artifact—and the diary.”

Though Darcy trusted the admiral—primarily based on his connexion to Captain Wentworth—he had not yet heard enough to surrender the pendant and Gerard’s journal without reservation. “You have said that those at the highest level of the Royal Navy are behind Captain St. Clair’s assignment. Might I ask why two small figurines hidden in a sugar cask on a ship years ago warrant such present attention by the Admiralty?”

“Because we are talking about a hoard of gold,” St. Clair said, “hidden in hundreds of casks, aboard multiple ships, over a period of years.”

“Captain St. Clair has been investigating a smuggling ring,” the admiral said, “one that has been using Royal Navy ships to transport gold from the West Indies to England. The thieves, unfortunately, include numerous naval officers and seamen, along with corrupt revenue men and private individuals.”

“And my cousin happened upon this?”

“Yes.” St. Clair came forward and stood behind an empty chair, resting his hands on its back. “Though at that time, we were just beginning to learn of it ourselves. I initially became aware of something illicit going on in the region during my first tour of the West Indies, when I was aboard the Claudius. On a voyage between Central America and Jamaica, I noticed that our waterline was higher than it should have been for the weight our ship was carrying—the weight written in the manifest, that is. Our cargo was heavier than what had been recorded, enough to make the ship sit lower in the water than it ought.”