Chapter Thirty-Seven
Lady Mary
I’d been a fool. A vain, self-centered fool.
I bobbed my foot up and down, willing the carriage to fly even faster. It was only human nature, I supposed. A letter lands on my doorstep with my initials. Why wouldn’t I assume it had been written to me?
Ernest took a turn at speed. The coach teetered on two wheels, and we all slid across the seats to the far wall. Marie at least had Burton to cushion her impact.
“He’s going to crash us.” Burton glared at the ceiling.
I huffed out a breath and checked to make sure all my bits were where they were supposed to be inside my gown. “Ernest knows what he’s doing. He won’t wreck us.” He might break a wheel or axle. Another argument to ensure I didn’t change my mind about purchasing a new coach. Ernest could be sneaky.
We hurtled over a particularly rutted section of road, and I felt each bump in my spine.
Marie had other problems. She held an arm across her bosom, scowling. “Why must we race to your nephew’s ship?”
“Because if it leaves before we get there, men are going to die.” Well, they might die.
It wasn’t a certainty that the batch of tinned food that should have been destroyed was actually contaminated.
But in matters of such gravity, it only made sense to assume the worst. “That can I found in Trent’s factory.
The one Hicks said was supposed to be destroyed.
I don’t think it was an isolated can. I think Trent knew that instead of being destroyed, that batch had been sold to Marcus, and Trent died before he could warn him. ”
“But how—”
The carriage screeched to a halt, and I went tumbling forward.
Burton grabbed me and set me back on my seat. “Are you all right?”
I looked out the window. “We’re here. Hurry.”
Burton jumped out and helped us down. The docks were bustling. Sailors and stevedores swaggered from ships to the public houses and shops lining the street that fronted the river. Horses pulling carts with stacks of crates plodded down the street, forcing pedestrians to jump out of their way.
I rolled onto my toes. Everyone was so blasted tall. “Look for the Persephone. Quickly now.”
Ernest jumped down and headed north. The three of us went south.
Marie earned a few leers. Any attempts at conversation were quickly shut down by Burton’s glower.
A horn blew. A chorus of shouts arose. And I caught sight of a finely tailored jacket and expensive Hessian boots. “There!” I used my walking stick to prod people out of my way.
Burton was more direct. He strode in front of me and used his body as a battering ram, clearing a path for me and Marie.
“Montague!” I shouted.
My nephew looked about, and I waved my walking stick in the air. “Stop the ship!”
His eyebrows slammed together. “What?”
I ran up to him, panting. “Stop. Your. Ship. Poisoned food.”
To my nephew’s immense credit, he asked no more questions. He ran up the dock as the last gangway was being pulled up and hollered for the captain. In a gratifyingly short time, the row boats set to tow the ship away from the dock were paddled back and the main gangplank was set in place once more.
We joined Marcus up on deck. He and Captain Combes gave me expectant looks. “Your tinned food,” I began. “You bought it from Mr. Growse, who sources it from multiple vendors.”
Marcus nodded. “And?”
“And I think some of it might be from that batch that killed those Royal Navy sailors. You remember the incident?”
“Aye, I remember,” the captain said grimly. “It’s one of the reasons I didn’t want to feed that slop to my boys in the first place.” He grimaced. “Apologies, Your Grace.”
“I had reservations myself,” Marcus conceded. “But I was assured that if the canning process is properly effected, the food is safe.”
I nodded. “And it should be, when done right, but something went wrong in the canning process at Trent’s company.
When it was discovered which batch the dead men had eaten from, all tins processed between the seventh and fifteenth of June of this year from Trent’s factory were supposed to be destroyed.
I think they were stolen, instead, and sold.
And that you might have them on your ship. ”
A muscle ticked in Marcus’s jaw. “Can you check?” he asked Captain Combes.
“June 7 to 15, 1821.” The man nodded and hurried off.
“How certain are you of this?” Marcus asked.
“Certain enough to ride breakneck through London to stop your boat.” Marie rubbed her neck. Burton gently elbowed her. Her face went red. “I mean, Lady Mary was quite concerned, Your Grace.”
My stomach twisted. It had been a breakneck race to get here, and all my nervous energy was now spent. “Don’t worry, Marie. My nephew appreciates impertinent maids.”
Marcus gave me a look that only a duke could perfect. “How did you come to this conclusion?”
“It took me too long.” I leaned against the railing.
It was really quite pleasant standing on the ship.
The breeze off the river was refreshing.
The aroma could be improved, but after the heat spell we’d been suffering under, it could be overlooked.
“I found a tin that should have been destroyed. It could have been a singular one that was left behind while its brethren were destroyed, but I think it was mislaid as the other tins were stolen. Mr. Hicks’s attitude shifted after that tin was discovered. ”
“He said his fortune had changed.” The breeze caught the skirts of Marie’s gown, tangling them about her ankles.
Burton ran his hand up the back of his head. “Do you think he knew who stole them?”
“Most definitely,” I said. “I think he confronted the thief and was killed. Foolish of him. He must have known his employer was killed for the same reason. Trent was trying to warn you. He went to your house but wasn’t allowed admittance.
He wrote you a note, but dying, he probably thought he wouldn’t be able to make it to your house so stumbled to mine instead. ”
Marcus drew his eyebrows together. “But I thought the note was addressed to L.M. I am not addressed as Lord.”
I shoved my spectacles back up my nose. “I thought it read L. M., but there was a lot of blood. It could have been a D with the curvy part blotted out to look like an L. D.M. Duke of Montague. Or perhaps as he was bleeding to death, his mind wasn’t functioning properly and he wrote L by mistake.
Either way, I’m certain the note was for you.
” It was the only thing that made sense.
Or perhaps Trent had been asking me to warn my nephew. It made no matter now.
“Aunt May, you know I respect your intellect,” Marcus began.
He’d darned well better. “But?”
“But your theory is based on a lot of supposition.”
“Intuition.” Based on connecting the facts. Some of those connections might seem a bit loose, but they still formed a recognizable design.
Marcus inclined his head. “Intuition is all well and good—”
“Your Grace!” Captain Combes rushed across the deck. He held a tin aloft and pointed at the date stamped on the lid. “June 8th, 1821. We’ve only checked thirty tins or so, but more than half of them are in the date range Lady Mary referenced.”
Marcus took the tin and ran the tip of his finger along the imprinted letters stamped below the date. “T.C.C. Trent Canning Company.”
And the ship had been moments away from sailing. I loosed a breath, my body sagging against the rail.
“Tell the dockmaster we will be delayed,” Marcus directed the captain. “And get all those bloody tins off my ship.”
“Right away.” Combes strode away, calling for his first mate.
I held out my hand for the tin, and Marcus gave it to me. It was amazing that such a small thing could kill a person. “The magistrate will need to see the evidence.”
My nephew nodded. “They won’t be destroyed.”
I slid the can into my reticule. For some reason, I wanted to keep this one. A trophy of some sort. Or a reminder that I actually might have made a difference in this world.
“Aunt May, I will never doubt your intuition again.” Marcus bent and kissed my cheek. When he straightened, his face was deadly. “Now where do I find the sots who sold me these tins?”