The Deception At Lyme

be more than happy to assist this investigation in whatever way she can.”

Thinking back upon the information Mrs. Smith had already shared, it seemed to Elizabeth that one of Mr. Elliot’s most significant past associates had been missing entirely from this discussion.

“Could the liaison have been Mr. Clay?” she asked. “The Smiths, the Elliots, and the Clays were very close friends. If two of the gentlemen were conspiring in a fortune-making scheme, would not all three? Mr. Smith owned the plantation, Mr. Elliot attended to the details … did Mr. Clay possess naval connexions?”

“Not to my knowledge.” Mrs. Wentworth thought a moment, then added, “But I recall Mrs. Clay once saying that she had known a great deal of the profession.”

She did, Elizabeth thought. Biblically. And then another thought struck her.

“Perhaps, Captain St. Clair, you have been unable to identify the man who acted as the conspirators’ naval liaison because that individual is not a man.”

His brows rose. “I confess, that notion never occurred to me.”

“According to Mrs. Smith, Mrs. Clay had affairs with numerous naval officers, before and after Mr. Clay’s death,” Elizabeth said. “What if one of them told Mrs. Clay of the treasure hoard? And what if she, in turn, told Mr. Elliot?”

“Why Mr. Elliot?”

“Of her closest friends, he was the one who possessed both the cleverness and the means to do something with the information.”

“She also might have recognized in him a kindred scheming nature,” Mrs. Wentworth added.

St. Clair nodded. “All right. Would she have confided her source to Mr. Elliot?”

“Apparently, the only person among their set who did not know about her extramarital affairs was Mr. Clay, and even he might have been turning a blind eye,” Elizabeth said. “So, yes, for the purposes of our present discussion, let us assume she told Mr. Elliot. He definitely became aware of her naval paramours at some point, for he mentioned them in a quarrel that I overheard the night before Mrs. Clay died, and which I am certain was between the two of them. She was accusing him of unfaithfulness, and he—”

Elizabeth stopped as parts of the argument suddenly returned to her mind. I saw you leave the Sheet Anchor with one of them, and later walking on the Cobb with the other … I thought the business had ended, but you have been carrying on behind my back.… never would have begun had I not been so foolish as to introduce you.… Where is my share of what they have received all these years?

“The business” … Mrs. Clay’s “share” … a meeting at the Sheet Anchor—a pub frequented by sailors and Captain Tourner in particular. And Mr. Elliot’s response: You are hardly guiltless yourself. Unless you are an utter fool, you will keep your mouth shut.

She gasped. All this while, she had assumed that Mrs. Clay and Mr. Elliot had argued about sexual infidelity.

“I thought that Mr. Elliot’s assignations had been with other women.” She looked at Darcy. “But now, after learning of his smuggling enterprise—”

She saw in Darcy’s eyes that he followed her reasoning. “I believe you are right. She was in fact referring to meetings with other members of the conspiracy.”

Elizabeth turned to St. Clair and Admiral Croft. “Mrs. Clay was furious that ‘business’ she thought was over had continued without her knowledge. She said that she had made the introductions, and she wanted her share of the money they had received. I wonder if, when Mr. Smith died, Mr. Elliot told Mrs. Clay a similar lie to the one he told Mrs. Smith—that legal issues surrounding the West Indian plantation had forced them to stop or suspend the smuggling.”

“What did Mr. Elliot have to say in his defense?” St. Clair asked.

“That his recent meetings were none of her concern. But then she threatened to tell what she knew. Mr. Elliot warned her to keep silent, lest she incriminate herself along with him.”

From somewhere in the house, a clock chimed. The hour was later than Elizabeth realized. Admiral Croft rose. “Time and tide waiteth for no man, and neither will the smugglers.” He began to slowly pace around the table again. “The course of our discussion has led us here: Mrs. Clay learned of the treasure from one of her naval acquaintances, and told Mr. Elliot about it. Mr. Elliot rigged up a plan to use Mr. Smith’s plantation to hide the treasure in sugar casks headed for England, and with Mrs. Clay’s help, he recruited officers to transport the treasure aboard their ships. Once the gold reaches England, it goes to Sir Laurence, who keeps some of it for himself and sells the rest to other collectors. The baronet has also financed the construction of the Black Cormorant, which is ready to set sail.”

“Except it now has no master,” St. Clair said. “And somehow I do not think he is going to hire me for the post.”

“Aye, there will be no more sailing under false colors for you,” the admiral said. “But I also hope there is no need.” His pacing had brought him to a shelf upon which Wentworth’s compass rested. He picked it up, contemplating it a moment before turning to face them.

“We are navigating by guess and by God,” he said. “I wish we had more evidence before engaging the enemy—it is St. Clair’s word against the baronet’s as to what occurred in Captain Tourner’s cabin, and Sir Laurence has powerful friends. But we are out of time. I believe that we have enough to arrest Sir Laurence and Mr. Elliot, and to detain them long enough to execute search warrants on their houses. We had just better pray that we find what we expect.”

The admiral set the compass back on the shelf. “If we are mistaken, the investigation is sunk.”

Thirty-Three

Pity for him was all over. But this was the only point of relief. In every other respect, in looking around her, or penetrating forward, she saw more to distrust and to apprehend.

—Persuasion

Admiral Croft departed to coordinate with the customs collector and other local authorities the simultaneous arrest of Sir Laurence, Mr. Elliot, and lesser conspirators who could be found in Lyme. Once the ringleaders were apprehended, a telegraphic dispatch would be sent to the Admiralty from the signal house at Lambert’s Castle to initiate the arrests of corrupt officers and conspirators in other ports.

Though Captain St. Clair wanted to accompany him, upon the admiral’s order, he remained at the Wentworths’ home. “We cannot risk your being seen by Sir Laurence or his accomplices,” the admiral told him as they stood in the study doorway. “Your liberty in the wake of Captain Tourner’s murder is as good as a signal flag. Once all is in place, I will come collect you before the warrants are executed. I assure you, Captain—I would not deny you the satisfaction of being present when at last we deliver our broadside.”

Georgiana, meanwhile, rose and went back to the window on the opposite side of the room. Elizabeth followed. She attempted to read her sister-in-law’s expression as she gazed upon the sea, but Georgiana’s face was inscrutable.

“Georgiana?”

Georgiana attempted to draw a deep breath, but it came in the short tugs of one trying to maintain composure. She released it—an equally shaky effort—but managed to hold herself together. “I am the most extraordinary fool.”

“Do not berate yourself so. Sir Laurence deceived everyone, myself and your brother included.”

“But I spent more time with him and Miss Ashford than did anybody else. Of us all, I should have suspected that something about him was not as it seemed.”

“You are not by nature a suspicious person.”

“Perhaps I should be.” She turned from the window, her expression rueful. “At least, when I am near the sea—that is where Mr. Wickham duped me, too.”

“I do not think the sea is to blame. In fact, it seems rather to reveal character—it did in the case of Captain St. Clair.”