CHAPTER 31 #3
But the fire of righteous resolve melted the ice. An excellent swimmer, Wrexford rose to the surface and, on spotting Jarvis thrashing toward shore, drew a deep breath and dove back under the waves.
It was midnight-dark beneath the surface, the tidal flow stirring a dangerous vortex of crosscurrents that could easily draw a man down to his death.
Fighting their pull, the earl kicked like a dolphin through the underwater gloom, relentlessly pursuing the colonel.
Coming up for air, he found he was nearly within arm’s reach.
Jarvis snarled an oath on seeing him and redoubled his efforts to swim to shore. But the cold and the roughness of the river were fast draining his strength.
Wrexford laughed. “There’s no escaping me.”
Two swift strokes brought him abreast of the colonel, and with a grunt of savage satisfaction, he grabbed the man by the scruff of his coat. Kicking, punching, Jarvis tried to break free, but the earl’s fist was like an iron vise, holding him prisoner.
Fear rippled across Jarvis’s face as a wave slammed into him. Sputtering, he ducked under the swirling foam, emerging a moment later with a knife in his hand.
Anticipating the attack, Wrexford was ready for the strike of steel. Twisting away from the first strike, he grabbed Jarvis’s wrist.
And the fight turned into a battle of wills as the waves buffeted their bodies. Jarvis was strong, but mere muscle was no match for Wrexford’s unforgiving fury. He squeezed harder, feeling the other man’s bones shudder beneath his grip.
With a feral scream, Jarvis slumped, his fingers spasming and releasing the knife. He tried to lash out a punch with his other hand, but Wrexford sucked in a breath and dove, dragging the colonel down with him.
One, two, three . . .
Jarvis was now thrashing in blind panic. The earl could feel the visceral fear pumping through the other man’s veins—the knowledge that death was within spitting distance and all but certain to reach out and squeeze the life from his heart.
This is for you, Tommy, and for Neville Greeley, thought Wrexford. And for all the other brave men who died because of Jarvis’s lust for money. However, he wasn’t about to let the colonel escape so lightly.
A quick death was too good for him. Wrexford intended for him to go through a public trial and have his perfidy known to the world.
Then, when the sentence of death for treason was handed down, he would take quiet satisfaction from watching Jarvis be taken to the gallows and hung by the neck until he was dead.
Faber est suae quisque fortunae. As one of Charlotte’s Latin aphorisms said, Every man is the artisan of his own fortune.
The earl kept his prisoner submerged until all the fight died in his limbs. With a hard kick, he shot to the surface and drew in a gulp of air. “Mr. Porter,” he shouted. “Throw me a line!”
A thick manila rope splashed down beside him. After looping it beneath Jarvis’s armpits and tying a knot, he grabbed hold of the tail and gave a tug.
“Haul us in!”
A bevy of sailors was waiting to lift them into the steamboat. Half drowned, Jarvis lay sprawled on the floorboards, retching and wheezing for breath. “B-By God, I’ll have you court-martialed for this and sentenced to five hundred lashes, you miserable little boy,” he screamed at Horatio.
“Don’t call me boy.” The midshipman squared his shoulders, the sunlight winking off the polished brass buttons of his tunic.
“I am an officer in His Majesty’s Royal Navy, and you are a slithering muckworm who will soon be standing trial for a litany of crimes, including the betrayal of his country. ”
Horatio turned to his crew. “Clap him in irons, Bowers.”
“With pleasure, sir!” The sailor fastened the manacles on Jarvis’s wrists and stepped back, adding a kick that bloodied the miscreant’s nose.
“Avast there,” ordered Horatio. “The Royal Navy does not dishonor itself by abusing its prisoners.” He met the colonel’s malevolent glare with an unflinching stare.
“However, I shall order an extra tot of rum for every man here at supper tonight so that we may raise a toast to the prospect of seeing this spawn of Satan hanging by his neck from the gallows.”
A raucous chorus of cheers rose up from the men.
Sputtering invectives, Jarvis turned his head to snarl at the earl. “I shall see you in Hell, Wrexford.”
“Perhaps,” he responded. “But in the meantime, do keep my seat warm for me.” A flash of teeth. “I don’t intend on joining you anytime soon.”
More cursing, which fell on deaf ears. Wrexford turned away, feeling a strange mixture of emotions.
The pain of personal grief was no less sharp—he knew it would be lodged in his heart for the rest of his days.
But having brought the killers of his brother and Greeley to justice brought some measure of solace.
Far more than an act of revenge would have achieved.
I have Charlotte to thank for that, he reflected. A smile ghosted over his lips. Somehow, she made him a better man than he had ever thought possible.
He lifted his face to the freshening breeze and dancing sunlight. “Turn your boat around once you’ve finished fixing the tow ropes to the disabled prototype, Mr. Porter, and let us head for home port.”