Celia St. Clair eased from his mind when Colter reached the offices of Messrs. Guiterrez and Barclay. A most unlikely pair to be in business together, they were quite successful. Their office overlooked the East India Dock, a massive stretch of warehouses and swaying ships’ masts. It was noisy, crowded, and already the area was overflowing. There was talk of new docks to be built in the area now housing St. Katherine’s Hospital east of the Tower. It would ease some of the congestion, and get rid of the wretched slums. Shipping interests thrived.
“My lord,” Barclay greeted him, “we’ve been expecting your arrival.”
Colter took the chair he was offered, but declined a glass of port. Leaning back, he stretched out long legs and regarded Barclay. “Tell me what you’ve found. In detail.”
“Ah, yes.” Barclay, a short, florid man of Scottish descent, cleared his throat. Red hair liberally streaked with gray stuck up in odd tufts atop his head, and he had the expression of a perpetually doleful spaniel. “It’s quite perplexing. The India is reported to have been lost with all hands and cargo, yet some items have recently reached a Paris shop. The cargo was mostly specie, but some very costly pieces were included in the hold. Most perplexing is how the ancient Chinese vases survived to be offered for sale—privately, it seems—in a small shop off the Rue de Ile. It would seem impossible. How would the vases survive such a storm, yet no sailor? Most unusual.”
“Do you have a list of the items offered for sale? It is certain they are the same as those on the manifest my steward delivered to you?”
“Oh, yes, my lord. No mistake about that. While the currency might be unidentifiable, the vases are unique. The Ming dynasty, I believe, and quite rare. It’s a miracle they survived intact.” He blew out a thoughtful sigh. “Of course, I suppose it’s not impossible. Wooden packing crates, a great deal of straw—When the ship went down, perhaps the hold broke open and these miraculously floated free.”
“I don’t believe in miracles, Mister Barclay.”
He looked up, startled. “Oh, no. Of course not. I see what you mean.” Bright blue eyes fringed with red lashes narrowed slightly. “Yes, I believe you and Monsieur Guiterrez are of the same mind on that. He has been most adamant that it’s too great a coincidence to be believed. He has come to some conclusions of his own, though I must say that I don’t fully agree. It’s too unlikely.”
“My question is how and where it was done. I was told that the ship went down off the coast of Lubang. If it did not, or if it went down after it was relieved of cargo, it stands to reason that there would be some record of debris washing ashore. I was told there was none.”
“Quite right. None at all. No sign of drowned men or even a plank. All that is available are several witnesses to the ship’s sinking.”
“These witnesses were questioned thoroughly?”
“Very thoroughly. They all told the same tale of seeing the ship attempt to ride out the storm at sea, of seeing it offshore as it broke apart and sank.”
“Yet now some of the lost cargo is offered for sale in Paris.”
Barclay shuffled through some papers on his desk, and held up several sheafs. “Here is the complete manifest and the list of what was discovered in Paris. The name of the shop is listed, as well as the names of the witnesses in Lubang.” A brief smile momentarily brightened his dismal expression. “Odd names, but the translator carefully took down their reports.”
Colter scanned the pages. Then he looked up. “They all tell the same tale to the letter. It doesn’t vary.”
“Yes, my lord. That has been noted. It could be due to the translator.”
“Or it could be that these witnesses were told what to say. Moonrakers.” He
tossed the pages to the desktop. “I presume you’re investigating that possibility.”
“Yes, my lord. We sent men to make our own inquiries as soon as we received these rather peculiar reports.”
“Efficient of you, Barclay.”
“We do try to be on the spot, my lord.” Barclay’s nod reeked of satisfaction. “If I do say so myself, we have excellent employees who are very thorough. Nasty business, luring ships onto the rocks just to get the cargo. Utter disregard for human life and the property of others.”
Rising to his feet, Colter picked up the reports. “I would appreciate it if you said nothing of this to either my father or any member of the board. My father has been ill, and the board need not be bothered with unsupported rumors at this point. When the time comes, I’ll present them with the facts.”
The facts, Colter recognized as rife with deceit. If ships were being reported as lost with all cargo, then that cargo was being sold elsewhere, someone was reaping a great deal of profit. Only the investors lost money, as Lloyd’s of London paid but a percentage of the loss.
It was too costly to insure ships and cargo, the earl had argued, save for the barest amount. The board agreed. For the most part, they were right. But if one of the investors had decided to arrange matters to his own benefit, it was time to change that.
He would conduct his own investigations. And he’d start with his own father.
10
Jacqueline leaned forward to place her china cup back on the silver tray arranged on a small table set before the sofa, then turned to face Celia, who sat huddled in a wing chair near the fire. Outside a cold wind blew, the capricious London weather once more asserting itself, but here in her cousin’s sitting room, it was warm and cheery with a fire in the grate and lamps lit. It was a vivid contrast to the day before—as Northington had accurately and cynically predicted, Celia thought irritably.
Her irritation must be obvious to Jacqueline, for her cousin frowned though her tone was comforting as she said, “You must not fret, cherie. Northington is most adept at evasion. He is far too accustomed to getting his own way with ladies, so do not be gulled by his presumption. It is an insult, yes, an affront that he considered you to be vulnerable to his suggestions. And you may be assured that he was indeed suggesting that you be agreeable to advances from him. You were not mistaken in that assumption.”
Celia had confided her doubts about the afternoon she had spent with Lord Northington, revealing some details but not all, of course.
How could she confess the sleepless nights, the way she had allowed him to coax a response from her? Perhaps she had not surrendered, but she had not expected the wild turbulence of her reaction to his touch, either. It was as mystifying as it was tantalizing. Oh, it was plain to see that he intended to seduce her if he could, that he only played a game that he was confident of winning. But there had been no mistaking his naked desire. She’d seen it in his eyes, felt it in his touch, tasted it in his kiss. He had been as affected as she. While Northington wasn’t the first man to kiss her, he was the first to ignite such restless yearnings, such a heated response that she was left tossing and turning in her bed at night.