The Deception At Lyme

“You monitor weight that closely?” Elizabeth asked.

“Weight and its distribution are serious matters on a vessel of any size. They affect balance, speed, and maneuvering,” St. Clair explained. “Yet when I brought the discrepancy to my captain’s attention, he dismissed it as an arithmetic error and said we were almost to port, so I should not concern myself about it. I left the matter alone as far as the captain knew, but I wondered whether what I had observed might be evidence of smuggling. This was not a great leap—the practice is widespread, and we had spent one night moored off an uninhabited part of the Costa Rican coast for reasons the captain never made altogether clear—but I had no idea what the contraband was, or who among the crew was involved. On that same voyage, we had one crewman kill another over a gold figurine that was obviously beyond the means of either of them to have purchased. The killer claimed they had found it, but never revealed where before he was hanged. At the time, I made no connexion between the incident and my smuggling suspicions.”

The faint sound of a baby’s cry drifted from the nursery. Mrs. Wentworth started and glanced at the closed door, but remained in the study while Mrs. Logan quieted her charge.

Captain St. Clair continued. “Our next port after Jamaica was the Bahamas.” He leaned over the table and identified the islands for them on the map. “There, I was able to meet with Admiral Croft, whom I had always respected and trusted when he was my captain. When I shared my suspicions about the weight discrepancy with him, he said he had received reports of other suspicious cargoes, officers, and ships, and asked if I would quietly investigate them. I was appointed to the Magna Carta, and have continued the investigation ever since.”

“Is not enforcement of excise laws the province of customs officials?” Darcy asked.

“Primarily,” said Admiral Croft, “and we have been working in cooperation with them. The Articles of War, however, forbid His Majesty’s officers from receiving and transporting goods aboard naval ships for personal gain. The Admiralty, therefore, has a strong interest in identifying and prosecuting any officers or seamen involved in such misconduct.”

Darcy looked up at Captain St. Clair. “So when my cousin came to you with the information that the cook had found gold idols in a sugar cask—”

“That is when I first started piecing together what was occurring. Since then, gathering information aboard other ships and from other sources, I have gained what I believe is a comprehensive understanding of the operation, and in the past several weeks most of the remaining questions have been answered. We need to identify just a few more individuals, and then we can move forward with arrests and seizures.”

“We want to perform them all at once,” Admiral Croft said, “so that the ringleaders do not have an opportunity to rally their forces. And frankly, until now the war has prevented the Admiralty from devoting more resources to the smuggling investigation. Now that Bonaparte is defeated, we can address other matters we had been forced to defer.”

“What we did not anticipate,” St. Clair resumed, “was that private investigations undertaken by Captain Wentworth and you, Mr. Darcy, would overlap our efforts and in some cases interfere with them, by inadvertently alerting certain suspects to the fact that someone is examining their activities more closely than a guilty person wants. They are becoming nervous—which can be beneficial, because nervous people make mistakes. At the same time, they are getting desperate, which makes them unpredictable.”

“You are speaking of my queries regarding my cousin’s death?”

“Yes, and of Captain Wentworth’s enquiries on behalf of Mrs. Smith.”

“Mrs. Smith?” Anne Wentworth exclaimed. “She barely has anything to live on. She cannot possibly be involved in smuggling.”

“In her case, it is because of the smuggling that she has nothing to live on,” the admiral said.

Mrs. Wentworth regarded him with confusion. “I do not understand.”

“Here is what we have learned,” St. Clair said. “Some years ago, a naval ship needing to replenish its supply of fresh water stopped along the coast of Central America and sent a landing party onto shore. Deep in the jungle, they discovered more than mere water—they came upon a cave full of gold, a forgotten Spanish treasure trove of ancient artifacts once seized from the natives. They kept the discovery secret from the rest of their shipmates, planning to go back and retrieve it. The fortunes of war being what they are, and greed being the corrupting force it is, most members of the original landing party have died for a variety of reasons, but the story survived and eventually found its way to the ears of someone with the connexions to do something about collecting the gold. Over the years—impeded by not only our wars with the Americans and French, but also the revolutions still sweeping Spanish America—the cache has gradually been moved to Jamaica. That is what the extra weight was on the Claudius—large amounts being transported at once, loaded under cover of darkness. From there it has begun to be smuggled in small quantities aboard Royal Navy ships and transported to England.”

“In sugar casks packed at Mr. Smith’s plantation,” Darcy finished.

“Precisely,” St. Clair said.

“The admiral, Captain St. Clair, and I discussed part of this before you arrived,” Wentworth said to Darcy. “Apparently, Smith’s plantation was being used as a middle stage even before his trip to Jamaica with Mr. Elliot. The business they conducted while there refined the procedure and strengthened relations with the people they relied upon to perform that end of the operation.”

“What happened after Mr. Smith’s death?”

“Nothing at all,” St. Clair said. “The business has continued to run as profitably as it ever did. The estate has not been sequestered—that is a lie Mr. Elliot told Mrs. Smith to maintain control over the plantation and see the transport of the entire cache through to completion. Meanwhile, he has been embezzling its legitimate profits, channeling most of them into the smuggling operation.”

“He has been stealing from a poor widow?” Mrs. Wentworth exclaimed.

“Not any longer,” Admiral Croft said. “Captain Wentworth’s sounding has made officials both here and in Spanish Town look more closely at the estate. It may be seized while an audit is conducted, but Frederick and I will make the revenue men see the injustice of her situation.”

“If the smugglers have so much gold, and most of Mrs. Smith’s money, why do they not simply build their own ship to transport it?” Elizabeth asked.

“Because the British Navy rules the waves.” Admiral Croft, whose slow pacing had taken him round the table several times in the course of their discussion, reached the empty chair beside Captain Wentworth and sat down.

“A private ship is more likely to be captured by an enemy vessel or privateer,” St. Clair said, “and those that do reach England are scrutinized by customs agents. Naval cargoes are subject to naval inspection—and we have identified plenty of dishonest workers paid to overlook violations—but nobody examines the personal possessions of naval officers.” He took the last remaining seat, beside Georgiana. “Now that the war is over, however, there are fewer naval ships crossing the ocean, and many of the corrupt personnel—from captains down—are no longer in a position to transport the gold. Also, the seas are safer than they were for merchant ships. So building a private trading vessel is precisely what our smugglers are doing at present.”

“The Black Cormorant,” Elizabeth said.

“You, Mrs. Darcy, may come work for me anytime,” said the admiral.

“No wonder Mr. Elliot wanted Captain Tourner as his ship’s master,” Elizabeth added. “Tourner had for years already been smuggling the contraband for him and his mysterious partner.”

Both St. Clair and the admiral regarded Elizabeth curiously. “How do you know about Mr. Elliot’s anonymous partner?” St. Clair asked.

“Mr. Darcy and I overheard the two of you talking. You were trying to persuade him to hire you, and asked to meet with his partner.”

St. Clair stared at her. “I thought he and I finished that conversation long before we met you and Mr. Darcy near the quay.”

Elizabeth looked at Darcy in rueful realization. She had just betrayed their discovery of the Cobb’s odd acoustical properties.

“You might as well tell them now,” Darcy said. “The knowledge could prove useful.”

Elizabeth described the whispering effect, which they all found astonishing.

“Well! If that is not the strangest thing I have heard this week, I do not know what is.” The admiral laughed