The Deception at Lyme Read online

  The wind propelled the boat across the waves. Unused to the movement, Georgiana several times placed a hand on Sir Laurence’s arm to steady herself. They skirted the coastline of the bay, its rugged terrain so very different when viewed from the water. It was a highly pleasant beginning.

  Until the wind shifted. No longer their ally, it teased their sails and tormented their skipper with its indecision over which way to blow. It wanted to gust strongly, of that it was sure. As strongly as the waves of the incoming tide leaped toward shore in ever-higher swells.

  “Are we still safe?” Georgiana asked Sir Laurence.

  “Most assuredly,” he replied. “We have an experienced skipper. Nevertheless, I shall tell him to turn back.”

  Georgiana did not appear convinced. Neither did Elizabeth, who now rested an anxious hand on Darcy’s arm.

  They turned around, the skipper working hard to control his boat while the silent, apprehensive ladies clung to their seats against the force of each wave, and the gentlemen assisted with minor tasks as directed. The skipper had seen worse, he assured them, and so had his boat. There was nothing to dread.

  Thus they tossed their way toward Lyme, gratefully watching the Cobb rise in the distance. They neared once more the Black Cormorant, the great vessel impervious to the forces that bedeviled the small watercraft. The skipper would have to give the merchant ship a wide berth to avoid being driven into it.

  As they skirted round its side, a great breaking wave caught them. It heeled the boat to such extreme that its passengers slid to one side with the force, upsetting the vessel’s balance.

  The boat overturned, and all were suddenly, shockingly, plunged into the water.

  Darcy surfaced first. He had reached for Elizabeth just as the boat capsized—but had lost hold of her hand. Panic seized him until he spotted her nearby, struggling to reach the surface, weighted down by her skirts. He pulled her up. Struggling to keep both himself and her afloat, he looked round wildly for the others. On the opposite side of the capsized boat, Sir Laurence supported Miss Ashford.

  The skipper and Georgiana were missing.

  * * *

  From the Black Cormorant came a shout for ropes as a man dove from one of its gun ports.

  He entered the water some yards away. For an agonizing, endless minute, he, too, disappeared from sight.

  At last he surfaced. With Georgiana.

  He held her securely as she gasped and choked and coughed up water on him. So violent were her convulsions that she could not at first open her eyes to see her rescuer’s face. When at last she could, she was as surprised as the rest of them to recognize him.

  Lieutenant St. Clair was relieved to have her expelling seawater on him. It meant she was alive.

  But no one, including him, was out of danger.

  “Hold on to the capsized boat, if you can,” he shouted to the others above the crash of the waves. “Is everyone accounted for?”

  “The skipper is missing,” Darcy replied.

  “No—he is here,” called Sir Laurence as he reached the boat with Miss Ashford. “Caught in the rigging. It looks as if he bashed his head when the boat overturned.”

  The Black Cormorant’s crew tossed down ropes, their ends already looped and knotted. St. Clair swam to the one that fell closest to him, never letting go of Georgiana. He slipped the loop over Georgiana’s head and under her arms, instructing the gentlemen to do the same for Mrs. Darcy and Miss Ashford. Holding Georgiana from behind, he wrapped her cold, stiff fingers around the rope.

  “Can you hold on while they pull you up?”

  She tried to speak but still could not; spasms of coughing yet shook her. But she managed to nod.

  “It will not be a smooth ascent. Try to use your legs to keep from banging against the side of the ship.”

  She nodded again. A particularly intense cough seized her, and more water came up. When the spasm had passed, he bent his head to her ear. “Do not be afraid, Georgiana. You can do this. Are you ready?”

  “Yes,” she gasped.

  He signaled to the waiting crewmen. When the rope became taut, he released her. One of her hands flew from the rope to grab his arm. But the panic passed, and she let go.

  His gaze did not leave her until he saw her safely pulled onto the deck.

  * * *

  In years to come, Elizabeth would wonder whether the dreamlike haze in which she recalled that day was the result of terror or a bump to her head as the boat capsized. For now, she believed the latter, for she had an extraordinary headache.

  Her feet no sooner touched the deck than she went to Georgiana, who was prone and still coughing up seawater, though not as violently as she had before. Georgiana waved her away. “Please—” She twice cleared her throat before she could continue. “Tell me what is happening with the others.”

  “They are just pulling Miss Ashford aboard now. I will go see about the men.”

  Elizabeth was so flustered, feeling that she ought to check on Miss Ashford but wanting nothing more than to look over the side for Darcy, that she barely noticed a crewman who approached to offer his assistance. “Is there anything we can do for the lady?”

  “I do not suppose you have a surgeon on board?”

  “No, ma’am, only a skeleton crew.”

  “Some blankets, then?”

  Sir Laurence appeared next. Elizabeth decided to let him check on his sister, freeing herself and her conscience to go see how her husband fared. She watched the seamen hoist him up, not releasing her breath until he was on deck and in her arms.

  Lieutenant St. Clair was the final person hauled aboard, after the dead skipper, whom he had disentangled from the rigging and looped a rope around. Though St. Clair had assisted his own ascent by using the rope to climb up the side, he was clearly exhausted. He panted with exertion, his wet shirt adhered to him, his hair had come loose from its knot.

  And he was in better shape than the rest of them.

  Sir Laurence and Darcy were equally drenched and bedraggled, though their shorter hair prevented them from appearing quite the ruffian St. Clair did. Sir Laurence’s coat was a sodden mess, but nonetheless lent him a slightly more dignified appearance than that of St. Clair, who had shed his altogether. The ladies’ wet gowns clung to them; fortunately for their modesty, all had worn fabric heavier than muslin. Like St. Clair, their hair hung wet and unbound.

  Miss Ashford had swallowed a great deal of seawater, which she was now vomiting into a bucket. Though Sir Laurence attended her, murmuring words of brotherly concern, his divided attention kept straying to Georgiana, who had not yet been able to raise herself from the deck after she had sunk upon it. She had waved away not only Elizabeth but also him and Darcy, insisting that she would be fine in just another minute. She shivered. Elizabeth wondered where the blankets were.

  St. Clair went to Georgiana. “Are you all right, Miss Darcy?”

  She coughed again and forced herself to stand. “I will be, if everybody would simply—” She raised a hand to her head and started to sway.

  St. Clair caught her before she fell. Her knees buckled, and suddenly she was seized by shaking she was powerless to stop. As he brought his arms around her to draw her against him more securely, Elizabeth thought she saw his own hands tremble.

  He held her silently while aftershock sobs escaped her with unladylike force. No one dared intervene. But St. Clair’s gaze swept the deck, and he was conscious of all the eyes upon them. Darcy’s were wary. Sir Laurence’s were hostile.

  The blankets finally arrived, enough for them all. Darcy draped Elizabeth’s over her shoulders. She then took another for Georgiana.

  As Elizabeth approached, St. Clair whispered something to Georgiana. Calmer now, she drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Another whisper. She nodded and opened her eyes. Then she stepped back, avoiding his gaze as he helped put the blanket around her. When she reached up to take the blanket edges into her own grasp, their fingers touched.

 
She still did not look at him, but at her feet. “Thank you, Lieutenant.” A blush crept across her cheeks. At least one part of her person had begun to recover its warmth.

  His hands lingered a moment more before he dropped them. “I am once more your servant, Miss Darcy.”

  Elizabeth put her own arm around Georgiana and led her to where she had been standing with Darcy. As St. Clair accepted a blanket for himself from the seaman, Sir Laurence strode forward.

  “Where is the ship’s master?” he asked a crewman.

  “I don’t know, sir. None of us has seen Captain Tourner for hours. I thought he had gone ashore with—”

  “Miss Darcy clearly needs a comfortable place in which to recover. My sister is also ill, and I cannot imagine Mrs. Darcy wants to stand on an open deck shivering. I am sure he would not mind allowing the ladies use of his cabin.”

  Lieutenant St. Clair’s gaze darted to a door beneath the quarterdeck, then to Georgiana.

  “Of course, sir,” said the crewman.

  Elizabeth appreciated the baronet’s solicitude, but knew she would derive more comfort from Darcy’s presence than from Captain Tourner’s furnishings. “I thank you for my share of your concern, Sir Laurence, but I would rather stay with my husband.”

  “As you wish, Mrs. Darcy,” Sir Laurence said.

  St. Clair again glanced at the cabin door. “Perhaps Miss Darcy and Miss Ashford would also prefer to remain here on the main deck, close to their brothers.”

  “As my sister is too ill to answer for herself, I will speak for her recovery being better served by the privacy of the master’s quarters,” Sir Laurence replied. “Miss Darcy, would you not rather go rest in the cabin with her?”

  Georgiana appeared too exhausted to long remain standing under her own power. “I would very much like to sit down.”

  Miss Ashford and Georgiana went into the cabin. When the door closed, Sir Laurence turned to St. Clair.

  “That was all most heroic, Lieutenant.” The baronet cast aside the blanket he had been using. His eyes were hard as stone.

  “Now, kindly explain how you came to be on this ship.”

  Twenty-nine

  He brought senses and nerves that could be instantly useful … he was obeyed.

  —Persuasion

  Lieutenant St. Clair hesitated. “With respect, Sir Laurence, I fail to see how that matter concerns you.”

  “It is not a matter of concern, but curiosity. We are all so fortunate that you happened to be aboard, and happened to observe our mishap.”

  “I was aboard to meet with Captain Tourner.”

  “Indeed? As we have just heard, Captain Tourner is not here. He must have forgotten your appointment. Did he send a boat for you, to bring you out to the ship? Perhaps we can all use it to return to land, since he is not available to steer the vessel into the harbor.”

  “I doubt the ladies will want to hazard another small boat on these waters.”

  “Hmm. I suppose you are correct in that.” He glanced toward the door through which Georgiana and Miss Ashford had passed. “So, this meeting that was to have taken place. Is that why you were in his cabin? Were you awaiting his return?”

  “His cabin?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant. His cabin. The cabin we all saw you dive from. Through the gun port.” He looked pointedly at St. Clair’s shirt. “And in which, I wager, we would find your coat and waistcoat, were we to look. Shall I ask Miss Darcy whether they are in there?”

  The baronet’s gaze was direct and unyielding; the officer’s shifted to the cabin entrance.

  “Yes, I was waiting for him, and watching out the window for his return.”

  “What were you to meet about?”

  “Again, sir, I do not see where—”

  “Indulge me.”

  “I had hoped to persuade him to hire me on as his first mate,” St. Clair said.

  “Indeed? How fortuitous! Then you will not mind taking the wheel now and guiding us into the harbor.”

  St. Clair regarded the baronet incredulously. “You are suggesting that I take control of a ship without its master’s permission?”

  “This is an emergency, Lieutenant. We need to get the ladies to shore, and as you noted, they cannot endure transport on another small boat. Do not worry—I know one of the owners of this vessel. If there is a problem, I will make it right. And if you do well, I will put in a word for you. Consider this an audition for the job.”

  Elizabeth thought Sir Laurence was being incredibly presumptuous, both in the authoritative tone he was taking with the man who had just saved all their lives, and in his commandeering of the ship. He was clearly jealous of St. Clair—jealous that the lieutenant had rescued Georgiana from the sea when the baronet could not, jealous that it had been St. Clair who had happened to be standing close enough to catch her just now, and to whom she had cleaved during her emotional collapse. Elizabeth was, however, so wet and weary, that she did not care what motivated the baronet, or what connexions he flaunted, or how pompous he had to become, if it meant they could get off this ship and onto land one minute sooner.

  “Very well,” St. Clair said, “but I will need the crew’s cooperation.”

  “I will take care of that, too.”

  Lieutenant St. Clair assumed command of the wheel, and they raised anchor. Despite the choppy sea, it was a smooth, short, uneventful trip into the harbor. Until they reached the dock.

  And a scream came from the captain’s cabin.

  Thirty

  They were sick with horror.

  —Persuasion

  As it turned out, Captain Tourner was aboard the Black Cormorant after all.

  In his wardrobe. With a head wound that made the skipper’s look like a scratch.

  Georgiana, wearing a gentleman’s coat over her wet dress, was shaking once more. “We—we were cold and looking for more dry clothes.…”

  Miss Ashford rushed to a basin and was ill again. Elizabeth looked as stunned as Darcy felt. Sir Laurence, too, surveyed the scene in disbelief before leveling an accusing glare at St. Clair.

  “I am guessing, Lieutenant, that Captain Tourner declined your application for employment?”

  Though the baronet was quick to judgment, Darcy did note that St. Clair appeared the only person not shocked by the discovery.

  “I am not responsible for this.”

  “Indeed? Even had we not all seen you dive from this cabin, you admitted to being in it earlier. Is that not your waistcoat on the floor? It appears far too small for Tourner. So do the shoes beside it.”

  Georgiana looked down at the coat she was wearing, then at St. Clair. “Is this yours, too?”

  St. Clair’s gaze remained on Sir Laurence. “That does not mean I killed him.”

  “Then who did? Mr. Darcy, what do you think? Does not all the evidence lead to the lieutenant? He sneaked aboard, killed the captain, then remained hidden in his cabin waiting for an opportunity to slip away. No wonder he tried to discourage my sister and yours from coming in here.”

  When Darcy considered additional evidence of which the baronet was unaware—the conversation between St. Clair and Mr. Elliot that he and Elizabeth had overheard on the Cobb, the argument between St. Clair and Tourner that they had observed at the ship launch, the history between the captain and the lieutenant going back to the Magna Carta—he had to admit that St. Clair looked very guilty.

  He addressed Lieutenant St. Clair. “Can you provide another explanation for how the captain came to be hidden in his wardrobe?”

  “If I am being accused of murdering a fellow naval officer, this is a matter for the Admiralty to adjudicate. Anything further that I have to say on the subject will be said to them.”

  “Very well,” said Sir Laurence. “Then let us go.”

  “I will help you escort him,” Darcy said. If Lieutenant St. Clair were, in fact, guilty, he deserved whatever justice his court-martial determined.

  “May I retrieve my shoes?” St. Clair asked.


  “By all means,” said Sir Laurence. “They are evidence. The waistcoat should come with us, as well.”

  St. Clair crossed the room. As he put on his shoes and picked up the waistcoat, Georgiana watched, her face a confusion of disappointment.

  “Lieutenant?”

  He turned toward her, his expression unreadable. “Yes, Miss Darcy?”

  She took off his coat and held it out to him. “Take this, too.”

  * * *

  The Darcys spent the next day simply recovering from their trial by sea. Early the following morning, a note arrived from Captain Wentworth. He had news, and asked that they all—Darcy, Elizabeth, and Georgiana—come to 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.