The Deception at Lyme Read online

  “Even so,” Elizabeth said, “one of these days I would like to journey from Pemberley without encountering a single corpse. The count is climbing rather high on this holiday, if we include all the ones we have learned about secondhand. I added another today—Mrs. Elliot.”

  “Mr. Elliot’s wife died mysteriously?”

  “She took a fatal tumble down a set of steps. Apparently, women of his acquaintance suffer an alarming degree of clumsiness on staircases.”

  “While the men suffer by other means. Captain Wentworth told me today that Mr. Smith died of illness.”

  “How mundane of Mr. Smith. There is little inspiration for scandal in that. At least when Mr. Clay’s heart gave out, he was engaged in something interesting.” She paused. “Actually, now that I think on it, Mrs. Smith said only that Mr. Clay died in the act—she never specified how. Mr. Elliot could have walked in on Mr. Clay with Mrs. Elliot and shot him, for all we know. However, even without that additional drama, the members of Mr. Elliot’s erstwhile coterie all died rather spectacularly, except for Mr. Smith.”

  “And Mrs. Smith.”

  She drew a sharp breath, a disturbing new thought overtaking her. She had not previously considered the fact that of the three couples, Mrs. Smith was the only person still alive besides Mr. Elliot. “Four people dead within three years—everybody Mr. Elliot was close to, save one. Do you think Mrs. Smith might be in danger? She knows so many of his secrets, and her repeated applications to Mr. Elliot regarding Mr. Smith’s estate have made her an annoyance he would prefer just disappear. Her compromised health renders her all the more vulnerable to treachery.”

  “It is probably a good thing that she is living with the Wentworths at present, and that she has turned matters over to Captain Wentworth, who I daresay is equal to any challenge Mr. Elliot could present,” Darcy replied. “That being said, she perhaps ought to exercise caution around staircases—or anywhere else Mr. Elliot is present—though I do not foresee her climbing up and down stairs unassisted anytime soon.”

  They stopped as he said this. They had reached Granny’s Teeth.

  “She is hopeful on that point,” Elizabeth told him. “I do not think she will ever try these steps—good heavens, I would not attempt them myself—but a less hazardous set might be possible for her to negotiate by herself one day. She said the sea has improved her health remarkably.”

  “It seems Mrs. Smith says a great many things whenever you are together. She is a wellspring of information about herself and everybody she has ever known.”

  “I myself was a little taken aback by how much she divulged to someone with whom she is only recently acquainted,” Elizabeth said, “but I believe her health has so circumscribed her society that she has few people to talk to, and little news of herself to talk about. I think, too, that the kindness your sister and I showed her upon our first meeting accelerated the degree of intimacy she perceives between us.”

  “Well, she has certainly painted unflattering portraits of both Mr. Elliot and Mrs. Clay.”

  “Their own actions did that. I confess, I have lost much of the sympathy I had for Mrs. Clay, and at this point might not go out of my way to explore the circumstances of her death any further were it merely a matter of justice for her. We could simply share our suspicions with the coroner and walk away with a clear conscience. But the more I learn about Mr. Elliot, the more I fear for the safety of Alfred and Mrs. Smith, and even of the Wentworths now that they have taken both of them into their home. Too, the fact that Mr. Elliot was frequently aboard the Magna Carta at the time your cousin served on it makes him a figure about whom we ought to learn all we can.”

  “I concur,” Darcy said. “In fact, I feel even more strongly about probing his connexion to the Magna Carta. The gold pendants were found in a sugar cask—one of those, I would wager, that Gerard wrote came from Mr. Smith’s plantation. In the absence of Mr. Smith, we are left with Mr. Elliot as the only person at hand who might lend insight into how the artifacts could have come to be there—if we can pry the intelligence out of him without his realizing it.”

  “He also would have been present during the battle in which Lieutenant Fitzwilliam died—though he would have observed it from the Montego, if he observed it at all and did not take refuge in his cabin throughout the action.”

  “Unless he was on the Magna Carta when it occurred. Gerard wrote that Captain Tourner was entertaining Mr. Smith when Gerard brought the figurines to Lieutenant St. Clair’s attention, and St. Clair told me there were passengers aboard during the melee. Perhaps Mr. Smith and his companions could not safely return to the Montego before the Magna Carta became engaged. The crew would have been too busy preparing for battle to transport them back to the merchant ship.”

  Darcy’s reference to Mr. Smith’s “companions” prompted another thought. “Your cousin wrote that the captain regularly entertained three passengers from the Montego, but named only Mr. Smith. I believe we can safely assume Mr. Elliot was the second, and the one who made a point of his status as a future baronet—that sounds just like him. I wonder who the third passenger was.”

  “That is a question I would rather not pose directly to Mr. Elliot if I can help it. Perhaps Mrs. Smith knows.”

  “If she does not, Lieutenant St. Clair would.”

  “I hesitate to ask him, as well. I do not want to alert either of them to our suspicions. Both Lieutenant St. Clair and Mr. Elliot seem to have a considerable number of dead people in their past, though in St. Clair’s case it is a hazard of his profession.”

  Elizabeth looked past Darcy’s shoulder, toward the section of the Cobb they had just walked. “Perhaps it is not his profession, but the company he keeps.”

  About five-and-twenty yards away, near the wooden doors of the gin shop, were two men: Lieutenant St. Clair and Mr. Elliot. They stood against the wall, so deep in conversation that they took no notice of Elizabeth and Darcy.

  “That is an intriguing tête-à-tête,” Elizabeth said. “What do you suppose they are discussing?”

  Darcy studied them a moment, then took her hand. “Do not say a word.” His voice was so low against the rhythm of the tide that Elizabeth barely made out his instruction. He led her away from the water’s edge, angling toward the wall until they were flush against it, closer to Mr. Elliot and Lieutenant St. Clair but still a good sixty feet from where they continued to converse. Darcy leaned against the wall, his back to the gentlemen, and raised a finger to his lips.

  “… appreciate your interest, but you are making this application too late. We are settled on Tourner.”

  Elizabeth regarded Darcy in disbelief. The conversation was quite audible, yet there was nobody nearby. In fact, the voices sounded like Mr. Elliot and Lieutenant St. Clair, who had not moved from their distant position. Is that…? she mouthed.

  Darcy nodded.

  How? she wanted to ask, but St. Clair was still speaking.

  “… hoped I might persuade you. I have spent nearly my whole career navigating the trade winds and currents of the West Indian routes.”

  “Tourner has experience as a captain that you cannot match.”

  “Tourner lacks boldness. He should have retired even before the war ended. Your ship needs a master who can protect its cargo from those who would seize it. I have commanded prize vessels into port, led boarding and landing parties, directed battles when the captain has been incapacitated. Whether a situation demands decisiveness, diplomacy, or discretion, I will answer. You saw for yourself on the Magna Carta how expediently I can dispatch a problem.”

  “I did, and I thank you again for your deft handling of it, though you must admit that Tourner helped. However, your previous service to me does not change the fact that in the matter of engaging a master for the Black Cormorant, I have my partner’s wishes to consider, and Tourner is his choice. I am sorry.” Mr. Elliot began walking, headed toward Elizabeth and Darcy.

  St. Clair fell into step beside him. “Perhaps I could mee
t with your partner? Allow me an opportunity to convince him of my fitness.”

  “Such a meeting is not possible.”

  Apprehension took hold of Elizabeth as the pair ambled closer. She and Darcy ought to move, so as not to be caught eavesdropping on them. But then she realized the two men had no idea their conversation could be overheard from such a distance. Amazingly, as the distance closed, she and Darcy were yet able to hear their discussion.

  “I do not question that you are a highly capable officer,” Mr. Elliot said. “Were we not already decided on Tourner, we would certainly consider you. I also sympathize with your present lack of employment. I suggest you talk to Captain Tourner. Though he takes direction from me, this will be his ship and his crew. He knows your abilities; perhaps he will want you for his mate.”

  “Then I definitely shall take up the matter with him. In fact, I…” The sound of St. Clair’s voice died.

  Elizabeth met Darcy’s gaze. “They are drawing close,” she murmured.

  Darcy nodded. “It is indeed a fine day,” he said in a perfectly ordinary volume as he moved away from the wall and turned as if to go. “So fine, in fact, that I am reluctant to return to the cottage, but I suppose— Oh, hello.” He greeted Mr. Elliot and Lieutenant St. Clair as they approached.

  “We were just saying that very thing, were we not, Lieutenant?” Mr. Elliot’s words came smoothly, but the ease of his manner did not quite reach his eyes. “I hope the weather holds through the week. I hear a new ship is to be launched.”

  The launch had been a subject of anticipation throughout Lyme for at least a se’nnight. Apparently such events were a spectacle that drew even the most casually interested observers. The Harvilles planned to take their boys, and had encouraged the Darcys to attend.

  “It is a merchant ship, I understand,” Darcy said.

  “Yes, an Indiaman, the largest vessel Lyme’s shipyards have ever built,” Mr. Elliot said. “Or so I am told.” The hint of pride in his voice betrayed his feigned indifference.

  “Does it belong to the East India Company?” Elizabeth asked.

  “No, I believe she is a West Indiaman, owned by a group of individual investors. I am afraid, Mrs. Darcy, that exhausts the intelligence I have on the subject. Perhaps Lieutenant St. Clair possesses more?”

  St. Clair, who to this point had been attending Mr. Elliot with the same deaf ear to that gentleman’s pretended lack of interest as were the Darcys, now continued Elliot’s performance. “Only that she should have little trouble hiring a crew. There are many able seamen in Lyme eager to sign on with her.”

  Mr. Elliot appeared satisfied with St. Clair’s answer.

  Elizabeth was not. She wanted to know why Mr. Elliot and Lieutenant St. Clair were understating their knowledge of the Black Cormorant. She wanted to know the meaning of the conversation she and Darcy had just overheard. She wanted to know how in heaven’s name she had been able to overhear it in the first place.

  “Do you plan to observe the launch?” she asked them.

  “I hear she is a handsome ship,” Lieutenant St. Clair replied. “I would like to obtain a closer look at her.”

  “And you, Mr. Elliot?”

  “Perhaps. It is something to do in Lyme besides bathing or visiting the Assembly Rooms.”

  “There is always fossil-hunting.”

  He smiled. “Only for those who do not mind getting their hands dirty.”

  Mr. Elliot’s smiles increasingly caused Elizabeth’s flesh to creep. Despite his perfectly manicured nails, she suspected his hands were as dirty as his secrets.

  * * *

  They were off the Cobb and halfway along the Walk that connected the hamlet to Lyme proper before Elizabeth felt comfortable discussing what had just transpired, without fear of being mysteriously overheard.

  “So, Mr. Elliot owns partial interest in a new merchant ship,” she said, “but does not want anybody to know.”

  “He does not want us to know,” Darcy replied. “Apparently he is not hiding the fact from Captain Tourner or Lieutenant St. Clair.”

  “Well, no wonder he has continued in Lyme since Mrs. Clay’s death. I thought it curious that he did not go home. Now we know what has occupied him—overseeing the completion of the Black Cormorant.”

  “And hiring someone to command her.”

  “How was it that we could hear the conversation between Mr. Elliot and Lieutenant St. Clair from such a distance?” she asked. “Moreover, how did you know we would be able to?”

  “The day Ben Harville wandered onto the Cobb, I discovered quite by accident that the curve of the wall lends it unusual acoustical properties. I was standing just past the gin shop, while Captain Harville and Captain Wentworth stood where you and I were today, and I heard them speaking. Believe me—I was as astonished as you. I hypothesized that the effect worked in both directions, but I was not certain until now.”

  “Did you tell the captains?”

  “I told neither of them, nor did they seem aware of it. Apparently the phenomenon is not broadly known, or Lieutenant St. Clair and Mr. Elliot would have exercised more caution.”

  “Or at least not stood there immediately afterward equivocating to us, disassociating themselves from the very ship they had been discussing. How long do you suppose the two of them have been in collusion? Did it begin aboard the Magna Carta, or predate that voyage?”

  “That depends on what they are colluding about.”

  “Well, at present Lieutenant St. Clair wants employment from Mr. Elliot, but some sort of anonymous partner is standing in the way, along with Captain Tourner. It sounds as if at one time St. Clair and Tourner were on more cooperative terms—jointly taking care of Mr. Elliot’s ‘problem’—but that now St. Clair is willing to step over him to get what he wants.”

  “They say there is no honor among thieves. I expect that applies to scoundrels of any type.”

  “Yes, but I thought there was some honor among His Majesty’s sea officers.” They passed the steps upon which they had first encountered Lieutenant St. Clair, the afternoon they had arrived in Lyme. Elizabeth recalled the impression he had made on her then, and the following day when he had delivered the sea chest. “Lieutenant St. Clair disappoints me. I did not want to believe him capable of treachery, but having discovered him to be on such familiar terms with Mr. Elliot, who we know to be a snake, only causes me to wonder which of them is more lacking in honor, and—”

  She stopped. She had been about to say “which one is the bigger thief.” But from “thief” her mind leaped farther ahead—to the as-yet-unknown thief of two particular objects.

  “And?” Darcy prompted.

  “And whether Lieutenant St. Clair handled Mr. Elliot’s problem and the problem of the gold artifacts in a single shot—because they were the same problem.”

  “You believe Mr. Elliot was involved with the idols?” Darcy asked.

  “I am not sure what I believe, but somehow he was a party to them—directly or indirectly. If he did not handle them himself, he had knowledge of them. Let us consider what we do know: The figurines were found in a cask of sugar that, let us assume, came from Mr. Smith’s plantation. As his friend and advisor, Mr. Elliot was intimately familiar with Mr. Smith’s business—to hear Mrs. Smith tell it, perhaps more familiar than Mr. Smith himself. From your cousin’s diary, we know that Elliot and Smith, as well as Lieutenant St. Clair, were frequent dinner guests of Captain Tourner, so they were all well acquainted. And we know that St. Clair, as caterer for his mess, arranged to have the cask brought on board.

  “Now,” she continued, “what if this particular cask was meant to be stored with St. Clair’s personal belongings, but mistakenly ended up with the mess provisions? A cask that was never meant to be used during the voyage gets opened, the artifacts are discovered, and suddenly Mr. Elliot and Lieutenant St. Clair have a problem that St. Clair does not want brought to the captain’s attention—at least, not by your cousin.”

  “Or not
while the captain was in Mr. Smith’s company.”

  “Yes, we do not know how far the collusion extended.”

  “Or why, if Mr. Elliot was the one behind the gold’s presence in the sugar cask,” Darcy said, “he did not simply transport the artifacts with his own belongings aboard the Montego.”

  “He thought they would be safer on a ship of war?” Elizabeth sighed. “I have not worked out all the details, and my theory probably has more holes than a leaky rowboat. What did Captain Wentworth have to say about all of this?”

  “He thought there were enough irregularities in what I described to warrant investigation. Obviously, he does not know about the conversation we just overheard, which I shall inform him of without delay. Mr. Elliot’s character he already knows better than we do; in fact, he described him as a ‘talented schemer.’”

  “See? Mr. Elliot must have a hand in this somehow.”

  “Wentworth is not personally acquainted with Lieutenant St. Clair or Captain Tourner, though he might know the midshipman who conducted the inventory—Mr. Musgrove.”

  “I had forgotten about the midshipman. What did the captain say of him?”

  “If he is indeed the Mr. Musgrove who served under Captain Wentworth, he was a troublemaker. As for St. Clair and Tourner, Wentworth said he would learn what he could about them and their service histories, including applying to Admiral Croft for information. Croft is Wentworth’s brother-in-law, so he anticipates the admiral will readily assist us. He plans to speak with him this week.”

  “I look forward to the results of that discussion,” Elizabeth said. “In the meantime, we must call upon the Wentworths once more, so that you can tell the captain our latest news before he meets with the admiral, and I can consult Mrs. Wentworth on a point of fashion.”

  “Fashion?” Darcy took her arm as they reached the end of the Walk and began the arduous climb up Broad Street. “After all this discussion of villainy, that is where your thoughts have carried you?”

  “I want to know what one wears to a launch. We need to see Mr. Elliot’s new ship.”