Chapter 42
FALSE TRAILS
Asmall café overlooking Civitavecchia’s harbor provided an ideal vantage for observing the port’s activities.
The following afternoon, Richard sat across from Mrs. Bell at a corner table, their heads bent over what appeared to be tourist sketches but were actually harbor layouts and shipping schedules.
“I find myself wondering how our companions are faring in Rome,” Mrs. Bell mused, sipping her wine. “Do you think Mr. Darcy and the Bennets can navigate the language barriers? The cultural differences there can be overwhelming for English travelers.”
Richard considered the question as a merchant vessel maneuvered toward the docks.
“My cousin speaks passable Italian. Mr. Bennet has enough Latin to muddle through most situations. As for the clue they seek, if anyone can decipher ancient riddles, it would be those two scholars working together. Unlike me, Darcy enjoyed every class at Cambridge, including Professor Drye’s. ”
“And what of their personal understanding?” Mrs. Bell asked. “There was a certain…tension between Mr. Darcy and Miss Elizabeth when you first arrived in Porto.”
Richard chuckled. “I noticed the same. My cousin, who can command a room with his usual eloquence, has been reduced to stumbling over the simplest conversations in her presence. It is amusing to witness a man of his stature and status becoming so thoroughly—”
Suddenly aware that he had been staring intently at Mrs. Bell’s profile as she gazed toward the harbor, his own words seemed to have abandoned him. The irony of his observation struck him with uncomfortable clarity.
Mrs. Bell turned back to him with raised eyebrows. “Thoroughly what, sir?”
“Thoroughly…disconcerted,” he said lamely, as she smiled with evident amusement at his linguistic stumble. Richard reached for his wine glass, grateful for something to occupy his hands. “It appears that particular affliction is more contagious than I had previously understood.”
She reached over to brush her fingertips against his arm. “Please do not be concerned,” Mrs. Bell said. “I have been gathering intelligence about Captain Fink. His activities are suspicious, but perhaps not in the way we initially assumed.”
Richard looked up, surprised. “What have you discovered?”
“The harbormaster mentioned that Fink has been asking detailed questions about French naval movements and British shipping schedules. But his inquires seem focused on protecting British vessels, particularly the Victory, rather than compromising them.” Mrs. Bell was uncertain.
“He has warned several merchant captains about specific French patrol routes. He even mentioned the ship we encountered after leaving Gibraltar.”
“That could be exactly what a guilty man would do,” Richard observed, though his initial certainty began to waver.
“Create the appearance of loyalty while actually gathering intelligence for the enemy. Or for himself. And do not forget that we both saw him pass a document to a foreigner, who was possibly French.”
“Ah, yes. I pointed him out to a fisherman. He is the brother of a Catholic priest who arranges the sale of indulgences to superstitious sailors. Apparently, this Italian man has a successful business operation here in the harbor, and Captain Fink is a regular customer.”
“He is not French?”
“He is not. Additionally, I spoke with Captain Morrison this afternoon. He mentioned that, in the past, Fink approached him with intelligence about French activities that proved accurate and potentially saved British lives.” Mrs. Bell leaned forward conspiratorially.
“More importantly, he learned that Fink’s two younger brothers were killed at Trafalgar.
He personally vowed to Captain Morrison that he would do everything within his power to protect the young men on his ship and any other British citizen he came across. ”
Richard’s assessment of their primary suspect was becoming more complex. “Such behavior would be unusually sophisticated if it were a deception. Most traitors do not go to such lengths to appear patriotic.”
“Unless they are very clever,” Mrs. Bell replied. “In all honesty, I cannot shake the feeling that we may be pursuing the wrong quarry.”
The acknowledgment hung between them, heavy with implication. If Fink was not their man, then L’Ombre remained unidentified while British ships continued to sail into French traps.
“There is another possibility we have not fully considered,” Richard said slowly.
“What if there are multiple sources of intelligence leaks? What if Fink’s suspicious behavior is legitimate, but someone else on his ship or on another ship is providing the French with their most valuable information? ”
“A network instead of an individual. It would explain why our investigation has yielded very little specific evidence.”
“Precisely. We may have been looking for one master spy when we should be searching for a system of smaller compromises. Someone with access to shipping schedules but no direct involvement in naval operations. Someone whose loyalty would never be questioned because their position appears too minor to matter.”
Mrs. Bell added, “Or someone whose position is so trusted that suspicion would seem absurd.”
Richard was increasingly impressed by Mrs. Bell’s analytical capabilities as they continued to discuss possibilities.
Her insights consistently illuminated aspects of their investigation that he had overlooked, while her practical experience with maritime operations provided perspectives he could never have developed independently.
“Mrs. Bell, I must acknowledge your understanding and your ability to gather information from sources I could never approach are invaluable,” he said carefully.
Color rose in her cheeks at the compliment. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, the collaboration has been entirely mutual.”
She had become someone whose welfare mattered to him on a deeply personal level, a complication he never wanted.
“We depart for Athens tomorrow,” Richard said. “It could be that a change of location will provide new opportunities that will narrow our search.”
“And new chances to pursue false leads,” Mrs. Bell replied with a rueful smile.
As they left the tavern and walked through Civitavecchia’s narrow streets, Richard reflected on how their investigation was evolving.
Captain Fink, who had seemed so suspicious a day ago, now appeared to be either an innocent man or a remarkably sophisticated deceiver.
More importantly, Richard’s partnership with Mrs. Bell had begun to feel essential not only to their mission’s success, but to his personal happiness.
When the Mary Catherine reached Sicily, one question put to the commanding officer satisfied both Richard and Mrs. Bell that Captain Fink was an upright man.
“He reports directly to me,” Admiral Andrews stated.
“Fink has been invaluable in ferreting out merchants who are untrustworthy. He extends a small opportunity to be of particular service to the Crown to see if a potential partner is truly loyal before offering a bigger prize. You might be surprised to learn how few ‘honest’ merchants are truly honest.”
“Ah, a pearl necklace to a forlorn lover,” Richard said.
The admiral grinned. “Was that what he tried with you? He also uses a packet of love letters. It amazes me how many men are eager to promote an unrequited love.”
Richard refused to give away his own interests by glancing at Mrs. Bell. Instead, he inquired about sailing conditions to Greece.
“The French Mediterranean fleet has been spotted moving north from its bases in Africa. Intelligence suggests they may be planning coordinated operations against British shipping lanes between here and Constantinople. Be cautious, Colonel. Even with the Mary Catherine’s holds emptied of shot and powder, you are still carrying valuable cargo. ”
“I am aware.” Richard stepped back. “Thank you, sir, for the information.”
“Do all you can to locate and identify L’Ombre. He is more than a menace. He is costing us good British men.”
“Yes, sir!”