The Deception at Lyme: Or, the Peril of Persuasion (Mr. And Mrs. Darcy Mysteries) (26 page)

“Have you asked Mr. Elliot about the purpose of the trip?”

“You witnessed the amount of cooperation I have received from Mr. Elliot.”

“Yes, he advised you repeatedly to drop the matter altogether.” Darcy paused. “In fact, despite his ostensible reason for approaching us—to enquire of
me
after Alfred’s well-being—he seemed far more interested in talking to you. Or, more to the point, in making a great show of
not
talking to you about Mrs. Smith’s estate.”

“Perhaps because he made such a failure of it—if not by exerting influence over Smith during his life, then as executor after his death,” Wentworth said. “He has told Mrs. Smith that the property is so deep in arrears on its taxes that it has been seized, and that recovery is impossible. However, when it comes to increasing the size of his own fortune, Mr. Elliot is a talented schemer. Had he applied his shrewdness to the Smith estate, I have no doubt it would have become a profitable concern once more.”

“Particularly,” Darcy said, “since having traveled with Smith to the plantation, he likely saw the entire operation and gained intimate knowledge of its potential.”

Darcy was having trouble comprehending Mr. Elliot’s actions and motives. One would think that after Mr. Clay’s betrayal with Mr. Elliot’s wife, Mr. Elliot would have done better by the friend who had remained loyal to him. Apparently, however, Mr. Elliot was loyal only to himself, though his friends might drop dead around him: both of the Clays, his wife—

Mr. Smith.

Mr. Elliot seemed to have lost an extraordinary number of friends in the past three years.

“I understand Mr. Smith died almost immediately upon returning home,” Darcy said. “Do you know how?”

“Some sort of illness. It upsets Mrs. Smith to talk about it, so I have never enquired into the particulars, as they have no bearing on the issue of the estate. All that matters is that Smith is dead; the law cares not how he came to be thus, so long as it occurred by natural means.”

Or means that appeared natural. A push could look like an accidental fall; poison could disguise itself as illness.

A killer could masquerade as a friend.

Twenty-five

The listener’s proverbial fate was not absolutely hers: she had heard no evil of herself.

—Persuasion

Upon leaving the Wentworths’ home, Elizabeth and Darcy found their steps leading them not to their own cottage, but back to the Cobb. A boundary between the quiet village and the untamed sea, the ancient breakwater was the only place where it felt natural to entertain conjecture on subjects that also lay beyond the limits of civilized behavior. As they walked along the lower wall, passing the gin shop and following the curve toward the quay, Elizabeth recounted the ladies’ sitting room conversation.

“You shared with Mrs. Wentworth your suspicions regarding Mrs. Clay’s death?” Darcy sounded somewhat surprised.

“I had not planned on doing so overtly,” Elizabeth replied, “but when the opportunity arose in the course of conversation, I thought I should—not only to encourage watchfulness on Alfred’s behalf, but also to increase the likelihood of her revealing any pertinent family business to someone outside the family, should she think of something useful to our probe. I was a bit apprehensive about how Mrs. Wentworth would respond, but she appreciated my concern for Alfred, and as you saw, she was as cordial as ever when we parted.”

Darcy laughed.

“What is so amusing?” she asked.

“While you were engaged in murderous conjecture with the ladies, I was telling her husband my suspicions regarding Gerard’s death.”

Elizabeth released a laugh of her own. “Can you imagine the conclusions they will draw when they compare conversations? They will think us the most distrustful couple they have ever met.”

“We probably are.” Darcy took her arm as she trod over an especially uneven series of stones. It was a calm day; not needing to hug the wall for shelter from the wind, they were walking closer to the harbor’s edge than on previous promenades along the lower Cobb.

“We have good reason. For a resort where visitors come to improve their health, Lyme seems to attract a great many people with mysterious deaths in their past—and present. We can but hope that nobody notices we are not ourselves exempt.”

“Yes, but we solve the murders; we do not commit them.”

“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 meet 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.”