CHAPTER 24
A bank of sullen grey clouds was creeping in from the east, dampening the light of the sun. Bracing a shoulder against the wall, Wrexford waited within the sliver of space, trusting that he had made the right move.
In this particular game of cat and mouse, the role of predator and prey could change in the blink of an eye.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the creak of the chandlery door sounded. The earl ventured a peek and saw it was Daggett.
The captain had paused to glance in the direction of Sheffield, Raven, and Charlotte, whose sudden shrill altercation was punctuating the raucous cries of the gulls. Shifting the valise he was holding from one hand to the other, Daggett turned and took the path leading past the earl’s hiding place.
Excellent. The rat is about to become a mouse.
Holding his breath, Wrexford drew his pistol and held himself in check until the perfect instant for attack.
It was done in a flash—seizing Daggett’s coat collar from behind, he yanked the American into the niche and slammed him up against the unyielding bricks.
“Drop your bag,” Wrexford ordered, pressing the snout of his weapon against the captain’s forehead. “And do it very carefully. I’m in no mood for games.”
Daggett did as he was told.
“You’ve a great deal of explaining to do,” added the earl, after kicking it deeper into the niche.
“Actually, I’d rather not.” A pause. “You’re a damn nuisance, Lord Wrexford.”
“I’m more than a nuisance,” he shot back. “I’m the fellow who’s going to make sure you don’t elude justice for your dastardly crimes. However, depending on how forthcoming you are about your plans and your accomplices, I may be able to help you avoid the hangman’s noose.”
“I assume you spotted me at DeVere’s conservatory.” Daggett heaved a martyred sigh. “That was terribly clumsy of me.”
The American’s mordant sangfroid made Wrexford bristle. “Ruthlessly killing two men in cold blood is no laughing matter. However unsavory they were, they didn’t deserve to die in such a brutal way.”
“I didn’t kill them,” said Daggett flatly.
“Oh, come now. I told you that I’m in no mood for games. If you didn’t do it, who did? The Man in the Moon?”
“As a matter of fact, I do know the killer’s identity.” Daggett paused, as if considering his options.
Tiring of the American’s infuriating drawl, Wrexford gave him another hard shake.
“If you’re contemplating what bargain you might strike .
. .” He slowly centered the cold steel snout of his pistol on the captain’s forehead.
“Keep in mind that I don’t give a rat’s arse whether you live or die.
If I were you, I wouldn’t waste any more time with such ploys, but would simply throw yourself on my mercy. ”
Two can play at theatrics. He cocked the hammer. “I’m a reasonable fellow, unless I’m goaded into a temper.”
To his credit, Daggett didn’t flinch. “You’re putting me in a damnably difficult position, milord. On one hand, time is of the essence. On the other, I’m sworn to secrecy.”
A low growl rumbled in Wrexford’s throat.
“Before you twitch your trigger finger, might I show you several documents?”
A ruse?
“They are in an inner breast pocket of my coat,” said Daggett. “You’ll have no trouble finding them.”
“Put your hands on your head,” ordered the earl. “One false move and your brains will be spattered over the already-filthy wall.”
“Do hurry, milord,” replied the captain. “We’re wasting precious seconds.”
Wrexford quickly fished out a packet bound in a thick red ribbon and then indicated that Daggett could lower his hands. “Open it,” he said, thrusting it at his prisoner. “Slowly.”
Paper crackled—though in truth the sound was the more refined whisper of official parchment—as Daggett unfolded the top sheet, revealing several ornate wax seals.
The American held it up for Wrexford to read.
Hell’s teeth. The earl frowned as he studied the signature. “If this is a ruse, you bloody well don’t do things by half measures.”
“It’s no ruse. As you see, it’s signed by Viscount Melville, First Lord of the Admiralty,” said Daggett. He unfolded the second document. “This one is from the Foreign Office, and corroborates that I’m here on an official, but secret, joint mission undertaken by both our governments.”
Wrexford took a moment to read it.
“And if I don’t move quickly, milord . . .”
He hesitated. They both appeared genuine—he had seen enough official documents during his military service on Wellesley’s staff to be familiar with them. Still, the American was no doubt cunning . . .
“I would like to believe you, but unless you can give me more details, I’ll have to insist that we go to the Admiralty together and have one of Melville’s secretaries confirm your story.”
“We don’t have time for that,” growled Daggett. He expelled a harried oath. “The Foreign Office said you would be too distracted by your upcoming nuptials to get involved in a murder mystery. Think of your soon-to-be bride—and leave this sordid case to our two governments.”
“My soon-to-be bride has an even more finely honed sense of justice than I do. She wouldn’t thank me for dropping the case.”
“I suppose she follows that rabble-rousing fellow Quill, who seems so popular in Town, and allows his commentaries to stir her conscience,” muttered the American.
He swore again. “The Foreign Office seems to think you’re trustworthy, so I’ll explain why I’m here—but only if you’ll promise to keep it in strict confidence. ”
The earl signaled his agreement by lowering his weapon.
“I’m assuming you’re going to tell me about the military importance of medical botanicals,” he said.
“I’ve already worked out the ramifications of Becton’s discovery for myself.
What I can’t quite piece together is why, given the current conflict between our governments, Britain and America would be working together on it.
Unless, of course, it’s to keep it out of French hands. ”
“Becton?” Daggett shook his head. “No, my mission has nothing to do with Becton or botany.”
Wrexford stared at him in disbelief.
The captain drew a measured breath. “It’s all about slavery.”
“Slavery?” The earl was momentarily nonplussed.
“More specifically, the trafficking of those unfortunate souls captured and sold into bondage in Africa, and then transported as chattel to the West Indies and America.”
“But Britain banned that trade five years ago!” exclaimed Wrexford. “And if memory serves me correctly, your country also passed an act prohibiting the importation of enslaved souls.”
“That’s correct, milord,” said Daggett. “Like Britain, America abolished the Atlantic slave trade in 1807. However, the sale of human beings is still permitted within our borders.”
“Bloody hell.” Wrexford felt a little shaken that he and Charlotte had gotten everything so bungled. “So you’re saying that DeVere and Quincy were involved in that?”
“Yes, they were up to their elegant necks in it,” affirmed Daggett.
“Quincy’s cousin owns vast plantations and many enslaved souls in South Carolina.
And Quincy himself possessed the shipping expertise and logistical skills to plan an illegal voyage that promised to yield a staggering profit.
As for DeVere, he had a nose for making money, and provided the funding to put the plan in motion, in return for a share of the ill-gotten gains.
Their plot is too complicated to explain at this moment.
Suffice it to say, the three ringleaders each possessed an expertise that allowed them to create a devilishly clever smuggling plan whose sophisticated logistics made it infallible. ”
The captain clenched his jaw for a moment.
“All the pieces fell in place for them when Reginald Lyman, a sea captain for hire, agreed to transport the human cargo from Africa. I got wind of the plans over a year ago, and my government has had me posing as a malcontent, looking to become a secret partner with Lyman by offering my position in the United States Navy to his advantage.”
“I take it your plan worked,” murmured Wrexford.
“Yes. It was then that my government made overtures to your Foreign Office about catching all of the miscreants in the act. Regardless of our differences, our two countries are united in stopping the terrible trafficking of humans from Africa to America and the West Indies.” A pause.
“And apparently, your senior officials hold a grudge against Lyman for acts they can’t prove. ”
“A betrayal of our fighting men on the Peninsula,” offered Wrexford. “Lyman is suspected of having ferried gold to pay Napoleon’s army, no matter that his payment was awash in the blood of his countrymen.”
“So you know of him,” mused Daggett. “A scoundrel, if ever there was one.”
“Indeed,” said the earl. “And I’m aware that a chest of money was sent to him from Quincy’s ship when it landed here in London.”
Daggett raised his brows. “How do you know—”
“I have my sources within the dockyards, among other places,” interrupted Wrexford. “And have been using them to try to discover who murdered Josiah Becton.”
It was the captain’s turn to look shocked. “I was under the impression that he died of natural causes.”
“That’s the official announcement. However, the truth is, he was poisoned, and his important medical discovery—one that had not yet been revealed—has gone missing, along with the plant specimen involved in his research.”
Wrexford let his words sink in, before adding, “Given your knowledge in botany, I imagine you can comprehend how valuable a miracle cure for malaria would be to those who possessed the secret of its formula.”
A gust of wind tugged at the documents in Daggett’s hands.
“However, Becton was going to announce his discovery, and make it public, rather than create a business consortium to make untold riches selling it.”
The captain let out a grunt. “Ye heavens, I knew he was giving the keynote lecture. But I had no idea what he was planning to reveal.”