Chapter 5
Caroline’s mind also went to far graver crimes. “Not worse, surely? Perhaps one of the sailors yielded to temptation. People do send cheques or even bank notes through the mail on occasion, don’t they?”
“As if my men would know what to do with a bill of exchange or a bank draft! And they know—they know—the mail is sacrosanct! I do not think it can be so.”
“But is anything missing?” Captain Wentworth asked, but then immediately shook his head. “Forgive me, that is a foolish question; you would have no way of knowing. Please tell us exactly what happened.”
The captain poured himself some more wine.
“There are three mail bags, you see, and two of them were left gaping open, ready to be destroyed by the pests and the elements—” he could hardly finish the thought.
“Several small parcels were left lying about in the cargo hold. I could be fired for this. They’ll give my beautiful Lady Mary to Captain Barton. Barton!”
Captain Wentworth frowned. “Come to think of it, shouldn’t the mail bags be kept on deck? It is still a time of war.”
“Yes, but the storage chest was found to be rotted yesterday—at any rate the wood had softened and chipped right through. That was bad enough, for it ought to have been noted when we refitted in Falmouth. For safety’s sake, I moved them to the cargo hold.
The mail bags are always the last thing on the ship when it sets sail and the first thing off—I know my business. ”
“We believe you. But—what is your theory then?” Anne asked. “If one could get money in the mail, as Caroline suggested…”
“There are any number of reasons, but the direst, by far, are the army dispatches. They will be sent on in Lisbon to our forces in Portugal and Spain—Cadiz, Madrid, Vitoria—but I cannot believe any of my men are French sympathizers. Why, there’s not a one that’s been with me less than three years. I can’t and won’t believe it.”
“The ship is still at sea, sir,” Mrs. Scott put in. “Can you not instigate a search for any concealed contraband? And if the sailors are aware, will they not police one another? If one man has gone astray, it is likely his fellows will notice.”
“Yes, I shall do so, ma’am, but I don’t like to cast shadows and suspicions about.
It’s bad luck on a boat, and it turns the men surly and angry.
Ship life is already difficult; it don’t go better when the men gets antsy.
” His pronunciation and grammar slipped as his emotions got the better of him.
“And I don’t like to ask this—e’en more than the rest!
—but I shall need leave to search your cabins. ”
“Now, I say,” said Sir Mark. “That is a bridge too far. I hardly think you can accuse any of us of having designs on your wretched mail. The effrontery!”
“It is policy, sir. Every inch of a packet is to be searched in the event of stolen mail. It is always possible… Well, if a dispatch to our armies was taken, there is no saying who might be the culprit. With our armies fighting that madman Napoleon, the most stringent measures are in force.”
“As is proper,” said Richard. “Only lately I have been made terribly aware that there are spies even among the highest-ranking in Britain.”
“But surely none of us—” Caroline cut herself off.
Beyond Anne and Wentworth, Caroline did not know the others at all, did she?
The Marstons did not seem the sort, and how would Mrs. Scott—obviously somewhat indigent and acting as a companion—have any unsavory contact in Portugal or Spain?
It seemed most unlikely. But Mr. Belvedere, although he looked and acted like a young man just released from the halls of academia, might be capable of anything.
He was careless, but she suspected he was intelligent under his boisterous bonhomie.
He had been very quiet during this brouhaha.
Apparently she was not the only one who had followed that train of thought. His mouth fell open. “Why, I have no French sympathies, I swear it!” He was half-amusement, half-shock. “You may start with my cabin, if you please. I have naught to hide.”
Richard cleared his throat. “I thought at the time that your letters were dodgy. The wording was odd, the signatures overly dramatic. Forged, perhaps?”
“Why—I am wounded. Pierced even, Colonel! You said nothing of this to me.”
The captain looked between them with clear hope writ on his face. “Is this so? You don’t create this merely to give me hope, do you, Colonel? It would simplify everything—”
“It would not!” spluttered Mr. Belvedere.
Wentworth inclined his head. “Richard did tell me his suspicions, Captain, but since the journey had begun, he saw no benefit in catechizing or accusing the young man. But if there is other havey-cavey business afoot—it is worth addressing.”
Mr. Belvedere’s eyes flicked quickly between Richard, Wentworth, and Captain Smythe, and to Caroline he looked momentarily both older and more shrewd.
He was really a very handsome young man, and a very big man, when one came to think of it.
As a youth, he was like a puppy who didn’t know his own size, but as a man—he would be imposing.
But as fast as that impression struck her, it was gone, and he shook back his hair and laughed.
“This is the most absurd thing! But no, it is entirely my fault for giving my tutor the go by. I submit this plan: do, please, one of you, go and search my cabin this very minute. I won’t move an inch from the table before it is done.
” He spread his hands on the table. “I will turn out my pockets if need be. And you will all be witnesses that I would have had no warning before this happened, no chance to hide anything.”
With some awkwardness, they accepted his offer, and Richard and Captain Smythe went “to turn his cabin over.” Mr. Belvedere was in good humor, and it was impossible to think his manner was fake—wasn’t it?
He truly seemed confident they would find nothing, and he was rather hurt—in a joking fashion—that he was the prime suspect.
Anne, whose compassionate heart could not bear the possibility of false accusations, touched his sleeve just briefly. “Don’t take it too hard, sir. If you are exonerated, they will feel dreadfully.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Wentworth. I suppose it shall be an excellent tale in future times.”
“I, at least, have no more to say. Goodnight all.” Lady Marston rose to leave the table, but Anne—to everyone’s surprise—stopped her.
“I really think that none of us should leave the table until our cabins have been searched.” She turned to Wentworth. “Don’t you think, my dear? If it isn’t Mr. Belvedere—shan’t we have the exact same problem we do now? It seems to me only fair, only just, that we all submit likewise.”
Captain Wentworth smiled, as he invariably did at Anne, but he shook his head. “Do you really think the captain will want to search my berth—a captain of the British navy—or Richard—a respected colonel?”
“Do you imply that we are to be suspected then?” inquired Lady Marston coldly. “Merci du compliment.”
“Or me?” put in Mrs. Scott.
“Well, no—”
“You see, it must be all or none,” Anne said. “That is the only thing that is fair. Besides, who is to say—if someone has done something unfortunate—that they did not hide it in a cabin not their own?”
“There are keys.” Caroline did not like the idea of anyone entering her small refuge on the ship.
“But they are left unlocked most of the day,” Anne pointed out, “for the maids.”
Wentworth agreed. “And someone aboard would have a skeleton key, if not multiple, in case a key is lost.”
“That is a fair point, sir.” Mr. Belvedere rubbed his mouth. “Only now I am concerned that something nefarious shall be found in my quarters!”
“We are still not sure that anything was taken, are we?” Mrs. Scott asked. “Perhaps it is a storm in a teakettle.”
Storm in a teakettle or not, it was decided to take up Anne’s suggestion to search all the passenger cabins at once. This was a time-consuming procedure, for clearly no one should search their own cabin, yet no one wanted anyone else, even the officers, to rifle through their things.
Anne, and this surprised Caroline not at all, was the most humble and practical.
“I think only ladies should search each other’s rooms and our poor maids, of course.
Now, Caroline and I are friends, so we must not be responsible for one another.
Perhaps Mrs. Scott and I might go together, and then Caroline and Lady Marston—”
“I withdraw from the lists,” Lady Marston said sarcastically. “Please excuse me from this recruitment.”
Anne persisted. “Then Caroline and Susan—no, they are mistress and maid. I shall search with Susan, and Caroline with Mrs. Scott. Colonel Fitzwilliam has already begun with the captain, and either Mr. Belvedere or Sir Mark could search with my husband…”
Mr. Belvedere crossed his leg over his knee. “I’m game.”
Everyone was quiet for a moment. Wentworth put in, “Perhaps not, under the circumstances. Sir Mark?”
“Lord, yes, I’ve never been so bored in my life. At your service. I just need a pinch of snuff before I sally forth. Anyone else—Belvedere? No, hard feelings, eh?”
“Er, certainly, thank you.” He took a pinch slowly. “Generous of you.”
“Not at all! Now, to work.”
The searches proceeded, and to Caroline’s amusement, it was rather fascinating to rifle through Lady Marston’s things. It was perhaps good that Caroline was of a class and breeding not to need employment, for she recognized within herself a definite temptation to nosiness.
Lady Marston brought thirteen brooches in her jewel box, some quite hideous, and some—unless Caroline was grossly mistaken—of paste. Others of her jewels were very fine, however, Caroline thought them somewhat lacking in taste.
And Sir Mark did indeed wear stays to keep his belly confined. His clothes were all recently let out as well, some with panels to add multiple inches. Perhaps that was why Lady Marston often recommended him to refrain at supper—he was obliged to reduce.
One of Lady Marston’s small valises held neatly-labeled bottles like tincture of camphor (for cough), tincture of valerian (for sleep) laudanum (pain). A somewhat larger bottle was labeled Elixir Paregoric, for fevers, coughs, or distemper.
“If we have any ills aboard ship,” Caroline commented to Mrs. Scott, “we know whom to ask.”
She was more businesslike with Anne and Wentworth’s cabin, for she felt a little more as if she were violating a friend, although this had been Anne’s idea.
There was not much to be learned here, other than the fine quality of Captain Wentworth’s things, his height, for the sheets were untucked from the bed to let his feet hang over, and Anne’s general tidiness.
Caroline and Mrs. Scott looked quickly through their trunk, and the two drawers under the bed, but of documents, there were only Anne’s Bible and journal, Captain Wentworth’s discharge papers, and some records of their own bank draft for Istanbul.
Mrs. Scott looked around once more. “Unless we flip the mattress, there is not much more.”
“I suppose we should feel under the edge as we did the Marstons? I do not expect to find anything, but Anne will only feel right if we do it thoroughly.”
Mrs. Scott helped hold the tick while Caroline felt underneath. The sheets fluttered as they dropped it back into place. “Nothing at all,” Caroline said.
“No; not that I expected it,” Mrs. Scott said. “It is clear they are nutty on each other. If they had a plot it would be between the sheets, not under them.”
Caroline choked back a gurgle of a laugh, but she was really quite shocked. “Mrs. Scott!”
“Well, the sheets do speak for themselves—”
“He is tall,” Caroline whispered.
“That is one explanation.”
“This is a dreadfully vulgar conversation.”
“Is the ton so proper? I apologize.”
“There is something very different about whispering the latest on-dit concerning a married lady and her cicisbeo, than to make earthy comments about a married lady and her husband…”
“Oh. I do apologize then. I certainly didn’t mean to disparage your friend. She and Captain Wentworth are a lovely couple.”
It was an odd double standard, Caroline admitted to herself, but it was unarguable that one was acceptable, and the other was not.
None of the other partners found anything else, and Captain Smythe shook his head. He definitely would have preferred to uncover Mr. Belvedere as a villain at once, but all he had uncovered in his cabin was questionable snuff and striped cravats.
Anne was relieved, and since it had taken well over an hour, ready to retire for the evening. Lady Marston also retired at once, although Sir Mark was grieved to be dragged away from the fun.
The captain left to superintend the search over the rest of the hold and the lower decks, and the young people were left to themselves.
“I don’t know about all of you, but I could use a turn under the stars,” Mr. Belvedere said. “It’s not every day your fellow passengers turn on you en masse. I shan’t be able to sleep a wink. What I wouldn’t give for a tankard of homebrew just now!”
“I still have my doubts about you,” Richard said, though in a kinder tone of voice. “I’d like to see your papers in the light of day tomorrow, and have Wentworth look them over as well.”
“You may do whatever you like with them—as long as you do not toss them overboard. Is anyone else up for a turn between the masts?”
The excitement of the evening still flowed through Caroline, and the thought of her tiny cabin, freshly violated, was not appealing.
They went up in a group, and—as they all now had a week’s worth of practice behind them—could easily navigate the narrow ladder by the light of stars.
The moon was waning into a crescent, and the wind was a bracing revelation.
“This is an odd moonlit parade,” Mr. Belvedere said. “I like it.”