Chapter 6
Six
The wreck had broken apart in the storm that had blown it onto the rocks. Thom had interviewed the captain and some of the other survivors, and knew that. His initial survey had confirmed that further storms had scattered debris quite some distance across the reef and the seabed.
Thom had drawn a grid based on that initial survey, with numbered sections for the divers to search. The divers would start with those most likely to contain the detritus of the captain’s cabin, and work out from there.
The first pair descended in their leather suits and copper helmets.
The suits fastened tightly at the elbows and knees, leaving the hands and feet bare, and each helmet had a row of windows at eye level, so the wearer could see.
A pair of long leather tubes connected to each helmet, one to deliver fresh air and one to allow stale air to escape.
A pair of sailors from the crew took first turn on the pumps that sent air down the fresh air tube.
Air was pumped in close to the divers’ mouths, which not only allowed them to breathe underwater, but also helped to send the stale air up the second tube attached to the helmet, and kept the seams of the suits from leaking too rapidly so the divers could stay down for their full half hour.
Or longer, but Jim’s rules for the divers erred on the side of safety.
The second pair of divers, the rest of the crew, and the three partners had little to do until the half hour passed.
The first pair came up, the second went down, and another two sailors took over the task of pumping.
Thom assisted the divers to remove their helmets, and they settled in the chairs ready for them, where pen and paper waited for them to record what they had seen.
Hanging over their shoulders while they worked would achieve nothing. Thom waited as patiently as he could for the next change over, so he could collect up the notes and examine them.
The first team had just returned to the ocean for the third time when Thom noticed men on the cliff top that overlooked their salvage site.
The Cormorant was at least seven hundred and fifty yards offshore, but Thom’s eyes were sharp, and he was certain the pair were studying the salvage operation, passing a telescope back and forth between them.
“Paul,” he said softly to the captain, “that pair on the cliff top. Can you take a closer look at them without them noticing?”
His friend nodded and moved a few steps away, under the shadow of the diving bell, which was still on the deck shrouded in canvas. From its shelter, he used his own telescope to examine the cliff top.
“Two men,” he reported. “They’re watching our operation through a telescope, Thom.”
“It might just be chance,” Jim suggested. “I doubt they’ve seen divers before. Most people haven’t.” Jim was inclined to look on the bright side.
Paul had a gloomier view of life. “Or it might be someone who has guessed we’re after something worth spending money to retrieve,” he said.
“Either way, there’s nothing we can do about it except continue, and hope we find the right spot quickly,” Thom concluded.
Just before the noon break, their patience was rewarded when the second pair of divers returned to the top with pieces of wood that, despite their months-long immersion, showed every sign of having once been part of a fine piece of furniture.
Was it the cupboard the captain of the Havspray had described?
It could be. And when one of the divers handed Jim an ornate brooch with a huge purple stone surrounded by diamonds, Thom was convinced.
Surely this had come from the missing treasure?
On its own, it appeared to be worth the cost of the salvage, and it showed no signs of the accretions that developed during long immersion.
They had found the captain’s cabin—or, at least, part of it.
“We shall stop for our break,” he proclaimed. “And then, when the divers are rested, we’ll lower the diving bell.”
Two of the divers would seat themselves on ledges inside the huge wood and metal device, which would then be carefully lowered to the sea bottom.
The divers wouldn’t need their helmets, and they wouldn’t have their view obscured by moving water.
The bell would remain largely full of air, and the divers would be able to search, even digging over the section of sea bottom under the bell to check that nothing was hidden.
It would be the same rules as before, adapted for the change from suits to the bell. Two pairs of divers, changing places each time the bell was moved to a fresh piece of sea bottom, and two sailors on the pump that kept the air in the bell from becoming stale.
If their luck held, they might finish their task today.
Mama was over the moon. All the gentlemen who had been at the tour yesterday morning had called later at the proper visiting hour and had sat in Mrs. Penrose’s parlor competing with one another to impress Arianna and her mother.
“I was right to bring us to Fenwick,” Mama had said once she and Arianna were alone. “Mr. Mills is still my preferred candidate, but either Mr. Richardson or Mr. Beaumont would be acceptable, if you have a preference. Not the naval officer. As far as I can work out, the Wilsons are not in Society.”
Arianna didn’t bother to tell Mama that she would not marry any of them.
Lieutenant Wilson was the nicest of the lot, but she understood why Mama didn’t like him.
He would be a hard man to manipulate, whereas both Mr. Richardson and Mr. Beaumont hung on Mama’s every word, and neither of them seemed at all clever.
In his chatter, Mr. Beaumont had disclosed that Mama had told the talkative Mr. Brewster all about her dowry and he had shared the news with all of his gentlemen guests. No wonder they were so attentive!
Thinking about it in her bedchamber yesterday evening after Mama had finally finished gloating and had gone to bed, she had realized that the rumors of her sizeable dowry explained why Mr. Medlock had been so pleasant to her.
“How silly you are, Arianna,” she had lectured herself. “Surely you must know by now that you are not attractive to men? If they pay you attention, it is your dowry they see.”
But the depths of her disappointment showed she had truly believed Mr. Medlock was different.
She had had a restless night and awakened early to a dismal rainy day. It reflected her mood perfectly but meant a walk was out of the question. Brownlee, who had accompanied her on her morning walks every fine day, would be pleased.
“Stop being a wretched grouch, Arianna Westbrook,” she commanded. “Get up. Wash. Get dressed. Go find a cup of tea, and perhaps a book.” She had finished the three she had brought with her.
Mrs. Peabody was able to supply the tea—plus toast and an egg—but not the book. Or, at least, not one that was new to Arianna. “You could always try our little bookshop,” said that good lady. “I expect they will have something to please you.”
Arianna hadn’t noticed a bookshop, but Mrs. Peabody explained it was in the front room of a cottage a few doors down, and so, after she had finished her breakfast, Arianna put on her bonnet and cape, took the umbrella Mrs. Peabody offered her, and stepped out.
Mama would be cross if she knew Arianna had gone out without Brownlee, but Mama was fast asleep, and Arianna would be back long before she was up.
The bookshop was astoundingly good for such a small village. The proprietor, a man called Newell, welcomed her and invited her to look around. “If you need anything in particular,” he said, “ask and I will help you find it.”
It was the kind of bookshop that was full of surprises, and Arianna lost track of time as she moved along the shelves, opening books almost at random, reading pages and skimming contents, selecting one and then finding another she wanted more—her allowance being limited.
She was somewhere at the back of the shop, fully absorbed when she heard voices on the other side of the shelf she was currently browsing.
“I tell you, they must have found it. They’ve made no effort to go out again today.”
The voice was familiar. Surely it was Mr. Mills?
The person who answered sounded far less cultured, speaking as he did with the sing-song rhythm, elongated vowels, and lost ‘t’ sounds of the Suffolk countryman.
“We’ve missed our chance, then,” he said.
“Not necessarily. They have not yet left Fenwick,” argued Mr. Mills. “If we attack them before they can get out of the inlet…”
“No,” replied the other. “Against fifteen of them? Even if we got out of it with our lives, we’d have the Excise down on us.”
“They’ll keep the treasure—whatever it is—with them,” said Mr. Mills. “Have you got someone who could burgle their room at the inn?”
“Do it yourself,” said his coconspirator. “Get whatever it is they found, and we’ll give you passage to the continent. If you can afford it.”
“Fat lot of use you are,” grumbled Mr. Mills.
The Suffolk man must have been grinning, for Arianna could hear the amusement in his voice. “I’m the man with a boat,” he replied. “If you want passage to the continent and no record, you need a smuggler. And around here, that means me.”
Mr. Mills sounded disgruntled as he replied. “After the Johnson bitch, it’s leave the country or marry the Westbrook chit. I could stomach her for the money she brings, but her mother is pure poison. No, if I can get my hands on that treasure, I won’t need the girl.”
“Here comes Newell. I’m off. We sail two nights from now, Mills. If you want passage, be there after dusk.”
Arianna remained hidden at the back of the shop, listening as the shop doorbell rang, and then footsteps near the internal door. The smuggler leaving, and Mr. Newell arriving? Yes, for she could hear the owner telling Mr. Mills that he had found the book Mills had asked for.
He must have shown it to Mr. Mills, for the nasty man said abruptly, “That’s not the one.
You have nothing I need.” With that rude assertion he clumped away to the door.
The bell rang again as the door opened and shut.
Mills was gone. Arianna waited for another few minutes, listening to see if anyone else was in the shop.
Only after a long silence did she emerge from the back.
Newell looked up and frowned. “Is there something wrong, Miss? Did that man bother you?”
“He did not even know I was here,” Arianna assured him. “I should like to purchase these books, Mr. Newell. And would you be interested in purchasing the three I brought to Fenwick with me?”
They had a brief discussion about the books, and the familiar topic soothed Arianna’s remaining alarm.
Would Mr. Newell carry a message for her to Mr. Medlock?
But a moment’s thought convinced Arianna that it wasn’t a risk worth taking.
He seemed like a nice man, but even so, he might feel compelled to disclose any correspondence to Arianna’s mama “for your own good, Miss,” which had been what Arianna’s governesses had said whenever they told Mama something they knew would make her angry.
The habit of keeping her own counsel was hard won. She would need to find a way to speak to Mr. Medlock, and one that did not make her mother suspicious.
But first, she needed to return to the rooming house. By now, Mama must be awake, and Arianna had better be in her room when Mama sent Brownlee to check on her.