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Mr. Elliot shrugged. “It was not my secret to tell.”
“No, it was my husband’s—and hers.”
Elizabeth realized she had read a fragment of that note, and understood the betrayal Mrs. Smith referred to. The portrait of Mr. Smith in the locket his widow now gripped in her fist depicted a man with red hair—as red as that of Mrs. Clay’s second son.
Mrs. Smith turned back to A
“Oh, Frances…” A
While Captain Wentworth attended Mrs. Smith’s speech, he seemed distracted. His gaze strayed repeatedly to the Black Cormorant. Its deck was astir today, though its crew went about their work quietly.
“With my husband no longer able to confess,” Mrs. Smith continued, “I decided to confront Mrs. Clay. I wanted to see remorse in one of them. I wanted to hear the truth from somebody.
“I left my bench and walked to the steps around that bend.” She pointed toward the southern end of the Cobb, where stood the far stairs behind the quay. “By the time I climbed to the top and reached Mrs. Clay, Mr. Elliot had gone.”
Mr. Elliot, too, seemed attentive to the activity aboard the Black Cormorant. His gaze had drifted to the ship, but at the mention of his name it returned to Mrs. Smith.
Captain Wentworth leaned toward Darcy. “She is preparing to make sail.” Only Elizabeth stood close enough to overhear him; Mrs. Smith continued as if he had not spoken.
“Mrs. Clay was looking upon the harbor when I spoke her name. She turned round, and for a moment she did not know me. But then she recognized traces of my former self in my present face. There was no greeting, no warmth of encountering an old friend after a span of years. She only asked what I was doing in Lyme. I replied that I had come for my health. She made no enquiry into how I fared,” she said bitterly, “not even the most minimal civility.
“I, on the other hand, asked after her, and she gleefully a
Mrs. Smith’s voice cracked, and one of the hands that had been strong enough to carry Alfred now shook as A
“I asked about her younger son, and whether he had grown to bear the image of his father. She replied that he little resembled Mr. Clay. ‘That is not what I asked,’ I said. She at last had the decency to look ashamed. She took a step back, and said she did not understand my meaning. She was close to the wall’s edge, but not right upon it. ‘That surprises me,’ I said, ‘for I understand you perfectly.’ I moved another step toward her. ‘But if you truly do not comprehend, I will state my query more plainly. Is he my husband’s child?’
“She stared at me for what must have been half a minute at least, the wind whipping her hair and cloak, the gloom deepening. I could see in her calculating visage an internal deliberation over whether any purpose would be served by attempting to maintain the lie any longer. At last she answered. ‘Yes, he is.’
“At that moment, a thunderbolt pierced the sky. Arriving as it did, so swiftly upon her confession, it seemed a divine condemnation of her sin. She started, and took another step backward, coming precariously close to the edge of the seawall. I realized her peril and moved toward her to pull her back to safety. But Mrs. Clay interpreted my advance as threatening, and put up her hands to ward me away.”
Mrs. Smith’s voice had become thick. She swallowed, blinking watery eyes. “I called out to warn her that she was close to the edge, but people were shouting about a ship on fire and my voice was drowned by their cries and the wind. Then the ship exploded. The blast so startled her that she lost her balance. I reached for her, but she was already too far into her fall for my fingers to more than brush her sleeve.”
Mrs. Smith looked beseechingly at A
“It was an accident. An unfortunate, regrettable accident.”
“Yet you did not summon anybody to help her,” Darcy said.
“My own thinking was not clear immediately following,” Mrs. Smith replied. “I was shocked by the explosion and from the horror of witnessing such a dreadful fall. I assumed Mrs. Clay was dead, having tumbled so far, especially in her condition. Also, I was frightened that someone might have seen the accident and misconstrued what occurred—as Mr. Elliot did. I started walking along the upper wall toward shore, faster than I had realized myself capable of, spurred by fear and the pandemonium around me. I had covered half the distance before my mind settled enough for me to consider that perhaps she had not died. I looked back, and by then you were attending her. So I continued to the main steps, where I met the sedan chair when it and my nurse arrived a few minutes later. She was surprised to find me waiting there, but I told her that after the explosion someone had helped me that far.”
She turned back to A
A
Darcy was less certain.
However, it was Mr. Elliot who, though not meaning to, now commanded Darcy’s attention. The gaze that had periodically shifted toward the Black Cormorant throughout Mrs. Smith’s confession now looked past Darcy, toward shore. The casual stance in which he had so confidently goaded Mrs. Smith now adopted a more defensive air.
Darcy turned. A detachment of Royal Marines had arrived on the Cobb. They marched in formation along the lower wall, their red coats a striking display of color in the gloom. Admiral Croft and Captain St. Clair accompanied them.
“Well, this has been a fascinating explanation,” Mr. Elliot said. “However, further reminiscing will have to wait, for you have delayed my errand too long as it is.” He moved past the ladies on the bench and headed toward the quay. Captain Wentworth, however, interposed himself.
“I am afraid, Mr. Elliot, that I must detain you a little longer,” he said. “I believe Admiral Croft has business with you.”
“What business could the admiral possibly have with me?”
Admiral Croft reached their party and came to a stop. “A warrant for your arrest.” Captain St. Clair and two marines remained with him while the rest continued to the quay. “And another authorizing the search of your property in Sidmouth.”
“Whatever for?”
“Smuggled artifacts.”
“This is outrageous.” He glared at Captain St. Clair. “You will find no evidence there.”
“Regardless of what is discovered,” Captain Wentworth said, “we already have enough to free Mr. Smith’s plantation from your control and try you for stealing from his widow.”
“Truly, Captain Wentworth?” Mrs. Smith exclaimed. “I will at last have income from my husband’s estate to support myself?”
“Truly.”
“Oh, A
Captain St. Clair noted the baby in A
“Actually, my friend Mrs. Smith had him,” Mrs. Wentworth replied. “He is fine.”
“I am relieved to hear it.”