The Deception at Lyme: Or, the Peril of Persuasion (Mr. And Mrs. Darcy Mysteries) (28 page)

“One of your own former midshipmen is presently in Lyme,” Wentworth said. “Andrew St. Clair.”

“Is he? I shall have to look him up. Do you know where he is lodging?”

“At the George, I believe. He lent assistance the day of Mrs. Clay’s accident. Alfred is fortunate that he happened along.”

“I am not surprised. I remember him as a quick-witted fellow.”

“Might I enquire what else you recall about him?”

The admiral shrugged. “I took him on straight out of the Naval College. There are some captains, you know, who do not want College Volunteers—they think the young men are too bookish, and prefer their officers-in-training to have acquired all of their knowledge aboard ship, as they did. But I believe a mixture is good, and St. Clair was the most promising of his class. He quickly moved up the ranks to midshipman and master’s mate before being made lieutenant. When he received his commission with the
Temper,
I was sorry to lose him.”

“Have you followed his career since?”

“Our paths crossed occasionally while I was in the West Indies, but after the Admiralty sent me to the East—well, it is difficult enough to keep abreast of people and developments in your own fleet and at home, let alone a single officer on the other side of the world. Why do you ask?”

“I have heard his name mentioned in connexion with some incidents aboard the
Magna Carta
during his period as first lieutenant.”

“What sort of incidents?” Croft’s earlier jocularity had faded; he was now more the flag officer preparing to hear an unwelcome report.

“The discovery of some unusual cargo. And the action with the
Dangereuse
.”

“Where did you hear of this?”

“A friend whose cousin served with him.”

The admiral was quiet for a moment. Standing beside a shelf upon which rested several nautical instruments, he picked up Wentworth’s sextant. “Assure your friend that if there was anything amiss, the Admiralty would have addressed it.”

“The Admiralty was busy fighting a war when these incidents occurred. The lords might not even be aware of them.”

“Because they might not exist. Or they might not be what they appear.” He slid the sextant’s arm along its scale. “You are hearing of this thirdhand, years after the fact. Jettison it from your thoughts.”

“That will not be easy.”

“Frederick, if something inappropriate did happen aboard that ship, for the sake of your career, you do not want to be involved. Not every enemy should be engaged; sometimes it is best to let one pass.” He returned the sextant to the shelf. “I will pay a call to St. Clair if it will relieve your conscience, but I want you to drop the matter.”

Wentworth knew not what to say. This was a side of Croft he had seldom seen. In all the years of their acquaintance, he had known Croft primarily as a brother and mentor, not as a commanding officer. They had spent most of the war on different seas. Wentworth had never been on the admiral’s flagship during action, had not seen him plot strategy, had not heard him issue orders.

Had not felt the weight of words he left unsaid.

Admiral Croft, sensing Wentworth’s discomfort, forced a laugh. “Come, Frederick, do not a new wife and son warrant more of your attention than some long-ago incidents on a ship you were not even responsible for? You are a husband and father—you have new orders now. Take care of your family. And of Mrs. Smith. That good lady was saying again today how your friendship has improved her condition tremendously. By the way, she mentioned something about your helping her reclaim her husband’s estate?”

The admiral’s being more himself again, Wentworth shook off his own unease. “Yes. Mr. Smith’s West Indian property is enmeshed in a legal tangle.”

“Then that is another matter you should drop. If there are solicitors involved, they are the only ones sure of seeing any money. Let the pirates sort it out.”

*   *   *

When Darcy next met with Wentworth, he sensed disquietude in the captain. They retired to Wentworth’s study, where his host poured wine as before and invited Darcy to take a seat. He chose the newly mended chair, commenting that it seemed the repair had proved successful.

“I wish I could say the same for my enquiries,” Wentworth replied.

Darcy wished so, too, and had come in expectation of hearing something useful to their investigation. He would not, however, allow disappointment to overtake him until he heard Wentworth out. “Were you able to learn anything?”

“I was. To begin with, the Musgrove your cousin mentioned is in fact the Dick Musgrove I knew. He not only served aboard the
Magna Carta
at the same time as your cousin, he also died on it—though in a different action. I asked his mother to forward me a copy of the letter Captain Tourner sent at the time.”

He handed Darcy the letter. It included few particulars, and was very similar to what the Fitzwilliams had received from Captain Tourner upon Gerard’s death:
It is with deep regret that I must write to inform you … died in action against … fought bravely … take comfort in knowing … an honorable death in service to His Majesty.…
So similar, in fact, that it was almost the same letter.

Darcy returned the letter to Wentworth. “What about Lieutenant St. Clair?”

“His history required more probing than I anticipated.” Wentworth folded the letter and set it on his otherwise clear desk. “Andrew St. Clair has had a curious career. He comes from a landed but not extraordinarily wealthy family, and entered the Royal Naval College at age thirteen. He completed his Plan of Learning in just two years’ time, earning the notice of the Lords of the Admiralty, and after a year at sea he was raised to the rate of midshipman. He distinguished himself both during and outside of battle; under Captain—now Admiral—Croft, he was on several occasions chosen to navigate captured prize ships into port, and eventually served as a master’s mate—sort of a senior midshipman, with more responsibility. He sat for the lieutenant’s examination as soon as he was eligible, passed on his first attempt, and was promoted at nineteen to second lieutenant of the war sloop
Temper
.

“The
Temper
saw considerable action, and Lieutenant St. Clair performed well enough to earn appointment to a ship of the line, the
Claudius.
Since he moved to the
Magna Carta,
however, his career seems to have stalled. Though from there he went on to ships that have participated in significant battles and taken prizes, he has bounced from appointment to appointment in a series of essentially lateral positions, never receiving promotion above lieutenant.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Given the promise he demonstrated early in his career, I would expect him to have made post-captain by now, but he has not even risen to commander. It could simply be that other candidates with superior naval connexions have been given preference, but when I hear of a record such as this—frequent moves between ships, with no true advancement—it often signals a troublesome officer that every captain wishes to quietly pass off to someone else. We all suffer them. The fact that the beginnings of St. Clair’s professional stagnancy appear to coincide with his service aboard the
Magna Carta
—scene of the dubious behavior you reported to me—leads me to wonder if that is indeed the case here.”

“Did Admiral Croft offer any insight?”

Wentworth hesitated. “No. In fact, he discouraged me from pursuing this further. Most of what I did manage to learn, I obtained from other sources before I spoke with him.”

“Were you able to discover anything about the
Magna Carta
’s action with the
Dangereuse,
beyond what St. Clair imparted to me?”

“Very little. From what I did find out, it seems the engagement was a debacle. The
Magna Carta
was escorting two merchant vessels—the
Montego
and the
Port Royal.
They were approached by a French frigate and a war sloop. The
Port Royal
made off with haste—merchant ships often do in such situations, getting out of the way and letting their warship escort do its job—but the
Montego
remained. Tourner initially had the advantage of position; as the French ship advanced, he had an opportunity to wear round and rake her, but he would not engage. Instead, he tried to outrun the
Dangereuse.
The French closed in, started firing broadsides, and crippled the
Magna Carta
to the point where they grappled and boarded. Were it not for the
Montego
firing some lucky shots that dismasted the sloop, Tourner would surely have been boarded by the crews of both French vessels and lost his ship. As it was, the
Magna Carta
was fortunate enough to prevail in melee and force the French boarding party to retreat. Tourner was lucky to avoid a court-martial over the encounter.”

“Why would he not engage?”

“That, I could not determine. The only person who knows with certainty is Captain Tourner himself. And perhaps his second-in-command: Lieutenant St. Clair.”

Twenty-seven

“Nothing can exceed the accommodations of a man-of-war; I speak, you know, of the higher rates. When you come to a frigate, of course, you are more confined.”

—
Mrs. Croft,
Persuasion

The grandest vessel Lyme’s shipyards had ever produced, the
Black Cormorant
was a source of pride even to those who had not toiled at her creation. Built to cross oceans and return with exotic goods, she possessed the size and strength of a small warship. Her holds were spacious enough to carry the large cargos required to make transatlantic voyages worthwhile, and her deck would eventually bear cannons enough to protect them.

It was a morning launch, the timing dictated not by any human creature’s convenience, but the tide. The ocean lapped onto the shore, as if reaching to draw in its newest pearl. When the water had come in as far as it could, the ship would be released to meet it.

All Lyme, it seemed, had turned out for the event. Visitors and residents, mariners and merchants, gentlemen and ladies, young and old, all crowded the shore to witness her first entry into the sea that would carry her to lands most of those gathered would never look upon, save in their own imaginations. Even the excise men took a break from their work, leaving the Customs House to observe the proceedings—probably calculating in their minds how much revenue would be generated by the merchantman’s cargo holds when full.

Elizabeth, Darcy, and Georgiana recognized numerous people; Lily-Anne had come, too, but had a far more restricted circle of acquaintance. Thankfully, while the adults scanned the crowd for individuals they knew, the toddler was content to quietly observe the busy scene from her father’s arms. The Harvilles and their sons were some distance away, separated from the Darcys by too many people to allow for any greeting more personal than a wave. Sir Walter and Miss Elliot, their black mourning clothes a somber—though, of course, elegant—contrast to the more festive attire of those around them, surveyed the scene with an air of royalty looking down upon the masses. Elizabeth also spotted Mr. Sawyer, the surgeon who had attended Mrs. Clay. She had yet to sight the Wentworths.

“I do not see Miss Ashford,” Georgiana said. “She told me that she planned to come.”

“Perhaps she is watching from the other side of the ship,” Elizabeth said. She speculated that Georgiana’s disappointment more likely derived from the absence of the brother who would accompany Miss Ashford, but she kept the thought to herself as Georgiana continued to survey the spectators.

“Mr. Elliot has secured himself a position close to the proceedings,” Darcy observed.

Elizabeth followed his gaze to the ship. Mr. Elliot stood near the bow, the end farthest from the water. Between him and the vessel, a cluster of yard workers made some sort of preparation to the wooden rails alongside the cradle on which the long hull rested, its bow higher than its stern. At the moment, his back was to the ship as he scanned the crowd.

“Though not quite close enough to be mistaken for, say, one of the owners,” she replied. “I wonder if he is seeking someone in particular. Captain Tourner, perhaps?”

“No—that is Tourner over there.”

Darcy directed her gaze toward a corpulent, weathered man dressed in civilian attire that nevertheless created a naval impression; perhaps it was the gold lace on his cuffs. He stood not far from Mr. Elliot, who surely would have seen him by now were he the individual he sought. The captain was engaged in conversation with the man who appeared to be directing the proceedings.

Mr. Elliot’s gaze traveled until it reached the Darcys. Recognition crossed his countenance, and Elizabeth felt obliged to nod in acknowledgment. “Oh, dear,” she said. “I hope he was not seeking us.”

As Mr. Elliot made a nod of his own, an “Oh!” from Georgiana drew Elizabeth’s attention.

“Here comes Miss Ashford,” Georgiana said, “and Sir Laurence.”

Elizabeth turned round to see the pair not approaching, but already upon them. The baronet greeted them—including Lily-Anne—with his usual congeniality. Elizabeth expected her daughter to flirt with Sir Laurence again, as she so often did when he came to call at the cottage, but apparently she had decided to leave the baronet to her aunt. She burrowed her face into the crook of Darcy’s neck.

Elizabeth apologized to the baronet. “I think she is overwhelmed by all the people.”

“Do not give it another moment’s thought.
I
am overwhelmed by the number of people here this morning,” Sir Laurence assured her. “We were fortunate to identify your party in the crush.”

“This is indeed quite a crowd,” Georgiana said.

“It is quite a ship,” Sir Laurence replied. “Two years in the building. A thirty-two-gun is not a vessel Lyme sees launched every day.”