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“Not if we have anything to say about it,” Admiral Croft declared.
St. Clair turned to Georgiana. “Thank you, Miss Darcy. I had been unable to physically co
“Among his sister’s possessions,” she corrected. “At their house here in Lyme. The majority of his collection, however, is at Thornberry, his country house in Somerset.”
“Admiral, is this enough for a search warrant to be issued?” St. Clair asked.
“When combined with your testimony about Captain Tourner’s murder, I should certainly hope so. We shall want his Somerset estate searched, as well. Even then, the artifacts might be hidden.”
“Is this the final bit of evidence you needed to proceed with all of the arrests?” Darcy asked.
“There is one other main conspirator whom we have been unable to identify: the man who initiates contact with the high-level naval officers whose ships they have been using,” St. Clair said. “We know of individual corrupt officers, such as Tourner, who are part of the ring, but not the liaison.”
“It is not Mr. Elliot?” Darcy asked.
“Mr. Elliot does not have naval co
“Perhaps we should ask Mrs. Smith about other associates Mr. Elliot might have,” Mrs. Wentworth suggested. “She is not here now; she is on the Cobb—I heard the chair arrive for her—but she knows more about Mr. Elliot’s past than does anybody else, and when she learns he has been stealing from her all these years, I expect she will 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 co
“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.