The Deception At Lyme

had left Tourner’s body?” Darcy asked.

“You would never have been able to find Miss Darcy—not in time, not with two other ladies also needing assistance.”

Georgiana regarded him in quiet contemplation. “You compromised your investigation—more than three years’ work—to save me?”

St. Clair turned then, to face her. Darcy could no longer see the young captain’s expression.

“How could I not?”

The admiral regarded his protégé with esteem, but also resignation. “It was an honorable act, and when Captain St. Clair informed me of it, I said I would have expected no less of him. From a tactical standpoint, however, our line has been cut. Whether Sir Laurence believes St. Clair acted independently in boarding the ship—a mere out-of-work sea officer seeking employment—or realizes he had official motives, we have lost any chance he had of gaining the baronet’s trust. We now must take a different tack.”

St. Clair turned to Darcy. “We need to apprehend as many of the conspirators as possible so that all the work done to this point is not lost. Therefore, I would like to see Lieutenant Fitzwilliam’s diary, in hopes that it will provide evidence.”

Darcy handed the journal to St. Clair. “There are but two passages pertaining specifically to the artifacts.”

“I am interested in everything your cousin observed from the time he joined the Magna Carta.”

As Captain St. Clair opened the volume, Georgiana returned to her seat and leaned toward Darcy. “May I see the gold figurine?” she whispered.

He withdrew the pendant from his pocket and gave it to her. She frowned upon first receiving it. Indeed, it was not the sort of objet d’art that he expected would appeal to a young lady whose taste ran toward more classical images. She traced its lines with a fingertip, her expression troubled.

St. Clair, meanwhile, commenced reading. He skimmed quickly, pausing to offer an occasional explanation or remark. “Lieutenant Wilton—it was he who oversaw the loading of the contraband sugar casks onto the ship. They were all supposed to go to the captain’s private stores, but one of them accidentally wound up among our mess’s provisions.…” He nodded. “Yes, Tourner never initiated engagements when he had contraband aboard—I think he feared discovery if he lost and the ship was seized.…” A few pages later: “I would much rather have dined with my own mess than accept Tourner’s invitations. But Mr. Smith’s rum had the favorable effect of loosening Tourner’s lips, and when we were alone he would boast of the fortune upon which he would retire. Occasionally he would mutter hints that the fortune did not consist entirely of prize money, and I would ply him for particulars.”

When he neared the end of the diary, he said Musgrove’s name aloud. “I had your cousin to thank for that lead, Mr. Darcy, as I never ordered an inventory. Musgrove was an accessory to the conspiracy, though his was a minor role. He was simply not clever enough to be entrusted with much responsibility or information.”

“How did he die?” Anne Wentworth asked.

“He was impaled by a large splinter of the hull when a cannonball struck the ship. It was probably the most glorious moment of an otherwise unambitious career.”

St. Clair returned his attention to the diary, his eyes moving more slowly over the final entry. “He told me of only one idol,” he said. “He must not have trusted me—not completely—and withheld the other to offer as evidence to someone else if I failed to act.” He released a heavy breath and looked at Darcy. “Indeed, his caution was warranted, for he was surrounded by conspirators, and I could just as well have been one of them. At the time of my last conversation with him, even I could not guess the extent of the larger plot he and Hart had happened upon.”

Darcy at last voiced the question he had been wanting to ask since this discussion began—indeed, since he had first read the page to which the journal in St. Clair’s hands was now turned. “Did Gerard die as a result of it?”

“As a result of the scheme, or of my ignorance?” St. Clair closed the diary but did not hand it back to Darcy. His face held regret. “Both, I believe. When he came to me with news of the discovery, I needed time to ponder what it meant, and to determine how to proceed. I knew enough of Tourner’s character to distrust the captain, so I discouraged Lieutenant Fitzwilliam from reporting the incident to him. However, as we now know, there were others aboard who were also part of the conspiracy, and I did not consider that the conversation between your cousin and Hart might have been overheard.”

“By whom?” Darcy asked.

“Lieutenant Wilton’s cabin adjoined Lieutenant Fitzwilliam’s, and canvas walls are hardly soundproof.”

A weight settled on Darcy’s chest. “Did Lieutenant Wilton shoot my cousin during the battle?”

“No. But I believe he reported the conversation between Hart and Lieutenant Fitzwilliam to the captain, for I saw him go into Tourner’s cabin just before your cousin came to me about the figurine. I thought nothing of it at the time, because there were any number of official matters about which he might have needed to inform the captain, even though Tourner was entertaining Mr. Elliot and the others. But after the battle with the Dangereuse, as I began to amass more information and realized Wilton was in collusion with the conspirators, I suspected he had told Tourner that Lieutenant Fitzwilliam had become aware of their illegal commerce. And that Tourner’s guests also learned that Fitzwilliam had knowledge of it.”

“What led you to that conclusion?” Darcy asked.

“When the Dangereuse retreated, she was forced to leave behind some of her boarding party, who became our prisoners. One of them, an officer, told me just before we turned them over to the British authorities that he had seen Lieutenant Fitzwilliam shot by a civilian gentleman aboard.”

“Which gentleman?”

“His words were veiled, but he said he had been shocked to witness a future baronet shoot one of His Majesty’s officers.”

Though Darcy had sought the truth about Gerard’s death, when it came, he was unprepared for the cold sickness that spread through him. “Can this Frenchman’s word be trusted?”

“Had he told me immediately, or during the time he was in our custody, I might have thought he was lying in an attempt to use the information in exchange for better treatment. But based upon his timing—when he had nothing to gain for telling me—and upon the honorable conduct I observed in him during his captivity, I believed him. I have since learned that he is a secret Royalist, with connexions to both the French and English aristocracy.”

“Was he acquainted with Mr. Elliot?” Elizabeth asked. “Is that how the prisoner knew he was a future baronet?”

“If he was, he never let on to that fact during his captivity. Even so, Captain Tourner continued to entertain Mr. Elliot and his companions in the weeks after the prisoners were taken, so I imagine the French officer overheard some of our men talking about the gentlemen and learned more about them that way.” St. Clair paused. “Mr. Elliot, however, was not the only future baronet aboard the Magna Carta on the day your cousin died.”

“Who was the other?” Darcy asked.

Georgiana’s hand closed round the pendant she yet held. “Sir Laurence.”

Thirty-Two

It now became necessary for the party to consider what was best to be done.

—Persuasion

Georgiana looked ill as she searched St. Clair’s face for confirmation. “Sir Laurence came into his baronetcy two and a half years ago—after the events aboard the Magna Carta that you have been describing. It is he of whom you speak, is it not?”

“Yes,” St. Clair said. “Of course, he was simply ‘Mr. Ashford’ then.”