Ross-Courtney and Neill refused to name the other backers.
Indeed, they stubbornly refused to admit that they had been at fault in any way whatsoever.
After parting from Isobel, who left with Katherine to help bring the children back to their beds, Royd joined Robert, and they approached their prisoners. Realizing Royd was the senior commander on the scene, Ross-Courtney barely waited for them to halt before launching into a tale of how he and Neill had been kidnapped by the mercenaries, presumably to be held for ransom, and despite the testimony of all the other captives, he, Neill, and Satterly, and for all Ross-Courtney knew, Muldoon and Winton as well, were entirely innocent of any wrongdoing.
Ross-Courtney pompously proclaimed, “We are victims here!” He glowered at Robert, but then his expression turned superciliously superior. “I daresay I might be prevailed on to overlook your brother’s unwarranted behavior—no doubt he was carried away by the heat of battle.”
Royd looked at Robert. “I can’t recall the last time I saw you carried away by the heat of battle.”
Robert arched his brows. “Perhaps when I was nine and we staged that pitched battle with the Daweses on the docks.”
His face turning a virulent red, Ross-Courtney glared. “See here!” He fought against his bonds. “This is an outrage! I’m a Gentleman of the King’s Bedchamber. I demand—”
“Now, now, Lord Peter.” Edwina halted on her way to the medical hut. “If you keep that up, you’ll give yourself an apoplexy, and you’ll never see London again.”
Ross-Courtney goggled at her. He stared, his mouth opened and shut, then he croaked, “Lady Edwina?”
Edwina smiled brilliantly, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. “How sweet of you to remember—I’m Lady Edwina Frobisher now.” She paused, then artlessly suggested, “If you would furnish us with the names of your fellow backers, I’m sure the Captains Frobisher could be prevailed on to allow you to be made more comfortable.” She arched a brow and waited.
Ross-Courtney blinked. He hesitated too long to leave any credence in his eventual blustering, “Backers? I have no idea what you mean.” Lips compressing, he struggled against his bonds again.
Edwina sighed. “Very well. Have it your way.” She started to move off, then paused to say, “Oh—and in case you’re imagining that your guilt, and that of your colleagues here, will rest solely on the testimony of the captives who were held in this compound, I assure you that will not be the case.” She didn’t declare her intention to bear witness against them, yet her implication was clear. And with that, she swanned off.
Although Robert and Royd asked again, in several ways, Ross-Courtney and Neill, and the other three as well, refused to say anything more—or, at least, anything Royd was interested in hearing.
After declaring that he had more important matters to deal with, he left the five trussed where they sat, watched over by three of Robert’s men, and went to the barracks’ porch. He’d sent men to summon all leaders—his brothers, his cousins, all officers, as well as the de facto leaders of the captives—to a conference to decide what had to be done and to delegate the necessary tasks. Although the rear wall of the barracks and the end closest to the tower had caught fire, the flames hadn’t taken hold; several buckets of water had left the affected planks smoldering sullenly, but the building itself remained sound.
Royd sat on the porch. While he waited for the others to arrive, he compiled a mental list of the usual chores—treating the injured, disposing of the bodies, collecting weapons, making the perimeter at least temporarily secure again. Searching through Dubois’s papers for any evidence regarding their five prisoners and the other backers. Making ready to evacuate the captives to the coast, along with the prisoners.
By the time the men gathered, along with a transparently hugely relieved Aileen, who appeared arm in arm with her brother Will, Royd had the list fixed in his mind. But before he could speak, he saw Isobel, Katherine, and the other women captives, plus Babington, striding over from the women and children’s hut. Royd had put Babington in charge of the protective detail by the lake, thus allowing him to reunite with his Mary at the earliest possible moment; he now strode along with a huge smile on his face, one hand wrapped around the fingers of a sweet-faced young woman who looked as if her fondest dream had come true.
Isobel swung up to sit beside him, her breeches giving her a freedom of movement he associated with childhood days in the shipyards. “The children were so excited, they’d exhausted themselves. They’re all in dreamland already.”
The patter of feet heralded Edwina. She halted beside Declan. “I wanted to hear, but I’ll have to get back soon—we have lots of cuts to treat and some stitching to do.”
Royd nodded; he hadn’t expected Edwina to busy herself with that sort of stitchery. But presumably, stitches were stitches, and he could imagine hers were small and precise. He met her gaze, then looked around the circle of faces. “First, do we have any casualties?”
Caleb, his chest covered by a shirt he’d found in the barracks, reported, “Two. One of the original captives, a navvy named Wattie Watson. He went up against a mercenary trying to escape through the gates—Wattie was armed with only a spade.”
Royd knew his expression was harsh. “And did the mercenary escape?”
“No.” It was Kit who answered.
Royd gave her a nod and returned his attention to Caleb. “Who else?”
Caleb grimaced. Sadly, he said, “One of the older boys—Si. The four disobeyed our orders to remain in the men’s hut and thrust themselves into the fighting. The other three are bruised and cut, but nothing serious. Si took a knife to the side.”
Royd thought of a young life needlessly snuffed out. They all did. Then he blew out a breath. “It could have been a lot worse.”
Heads nodded reluctantly, but that was undeniably true.
Royd glanced at Edwina. “Are there any serious cases in the medical hut?”
She shook her head. “None life-threatening. Well, as long as we can stretch the salve out, but there seems to be a reasonable stock, so I expect we’ll manage. But the sooner we can get everyone to Freetown and better bandages, the better.”
“There’ll be more supplies on board our ships,” Declan reminded her.
“Next item,” Royd said. “Collecting the bodies and burying the dead.”
Hillsythe and Lascelle volunteered to oversee that task; as both, Royd suspected, had experience of the grisly work, he accepted without demur, and they left to gather their men.
Royd went quickly down his list. Fanshawe, Hopkins, and Dixon took on the chore of collecting all the unclaimed weapons, while Lachlan and Kit put up their hands to resecure the perimeter; as they’d been instrumental in unsecuring it, that seemed sensible.
Robert and Royd would search through Dubois’s papers, aided by Babington, while Declan and two of the women—Harriet and Gemma—suggested they and Declan’s crew should put the kitchen to rights and go through the stores to see what they could salvage for breakfast and the trek to the coast.
With tasks allocated, everyone dispersed. Edwina, Isobel, Aileen, Katherine, and the other three women all left for the medical hut.
Robert pushed away from the porch and gestured at the barracks’ door. “Shall we?”
Royd waved him and Babington on. “You make a start—I need to show my face in the medical hut.”
Robert nodded; personally checking on the wounded was a necessary aspect of command, at least as Frobishers saw it.
When he entered the medical hut, Royd found a scene that, at first glance, resembled utter chaos—then he realized it was organized chaos. As he passed down the line of the injured, bestowing encouragement and assurances, any doubts he’d harbored over the wisdom of his brothers acceding to Edwina’s and Aileen’s insistence to accompany them vanished beneath a wave of gratitude. In a situation such as this, the two bossiest women he knew—even more so than Isobel and Iona—were godsends. Together with Isobel, Katherine, and the other three women, they ministered to the injured with a mixture of compassion, empathy, and martinet-like command that enabled even the crustiest sailor to accept their help with good grace.
Yielding to a ministering angel was an act of wisdom, not weakness.
Something Caleb was patently learning. Royd found his youngest brother seated on a stool, being doctored by both Edwina and Katherine. Royd gathered that Caleb had committed what, in the ladies’ eyes, apparently ranked as a cardinal sin by donning a shirt before having his wounds tended.
His hands on his thighs, his chest once again bare, Caleb sat and endured as the two women inspected his cuts and applied a brown salve.
Edwina frowned, then gently prodded. “Are we sure this doesn’t need stitching?”
“Totally sure,” Caleb responded.
Without looking up, Edwina said, “I wasn’t talking to you.” She glanced at Katherine. “See—just here, it’s deeper.”
Caleb cast Royd an anguished glance.
Grinning, Royd raised a hand in salute and left him to his fate.
He spent twenty more minutes doing the rounds of those still waiting to be seen and those already treated who’d been bedded down in one of the two large rooms. Isobel and Katherine were both busy treating others, while Mary and the other two women were distributing cups of tea.
Isobel stopped him as he was about to leave. “You and the others”—with her head, she indicated those outside—“doubtless have scratches and shallow cuts. Katherine told me that, in this climate, we need to treat every little thing so it doesn’t fester. That’s why they have such a large stock of this salve.” She pressed three small pots into his hands. “We’re too busy here to chase you all—you and the others can anoint yourselves, then pass the pots around. Everyone needs to take care.”
He nodded. “I expect we’ll be gathering later, when the others return to report. I’ll mention it then.”
“Good.” She stretched up and kissed him, squeezed his arm, then let him go and turned to the next injured man.
Royd reached the door and realized Caleb was sitting on the porch steps, his arm around the hunched shoulders of a boy sitting beside him. Two other boys of similar age were standing close by, their heads bowed, their gazes cast down.
Rather than interrupt, Royd leaned against the wall just inside the open door.
“Gerry.” Briefly, Caleb hugged the lad beside him. “Si dying isn’t your fault.” He glanced at the other boys. “Not yours or anyone else’s.”
“We shoulda stayed inside like you and Mr. Hillsythe said.” Gerry hiccuped. “If we had, Si’d still be alive.”
“Yes, and next time you’ll know that orders like that need to be obeyed.” Caleb paused, then more quietly said, “It’s sad that Si died, but he made his own decision to go out and join the fighting. You all made your own decisions. He was responsible for the decision that led to his death—not any of you. But you’ve now learned that fighting is real—that people get badly injured and die. That’s an important thing to learn. If you learned that today, and you never forget it, then something useful will have come from Si’s death. His dying won’t have been entirely in vain.”
It was hard to know what to say to striplings in such circumstances; Royd approved of Caleb’s tack. The moment made Royd think of Duncan and all the learning his son had before him.
“Come on.” Caleb lifted his arm from the boy and rose. “Let’s get you to the hut—you should be in your hammocks. There’ll be lots to do tomorrow.”
Royd waited until the small band was several yards away before emerging from the hut and heading for the barracks. Lanterns had been lit and passed around to all those working, while other lanterns had been placed strategically around the compound, lighting the way for those, like Royd, moving from hut to hut.
Along the way, he passed on the three pots of salve with instructions, then joined Robert and Charles Babington inside the barracks.
They’d made a good start going through the papers and ledgers in and around Dubois’s desk. Leaving them focused on that, Royd took a lamp and walked down the long, rectangular hut. At the far end, where the sidewall was blackened, he found a trundle bed set apart from the others. He set down the lamp and searched. Under the pallet, he found a small bound book. He sat on the bed, opened the book, and read.
Twenty minutes later, he walked back to Dubois’s desk and showed Robert and Babington what he’d found. They’d uncovered other useful references. Babington found a satchel, and they put the papers and book inside. Royd hefted the satchel.
Robert had gone to the door. “They’ve built up the fire. It looks like we’re gathering there.”
Royd followed Robert, and Babington trailed behind. They sat on the logs around the fire pit.
Soon after, the women joined them.
Isobel slumped against Royd’s side. “All those with serious wounds have been treated.” She tipped her head, resting it on his shoulder. “No one needs anything more done tonight.”
He turned his chin enough to drop a light kiss on her forehead.
As the warmth from the fire played over him, and the warmth of her, safe, alive, and by his side, seeped into his soul, he finally started to relax.
They’d taken the compound, rescued the captives, and lost only two in the process. They had the three local villains and two of the backers in custody. They’d succeeded amazingly well in achieving the most important of their goals.
He said as much when, drawn by the fire, the rest of the company bar the children gathered to report and learn how matters stood. In the aftermath of the action, of the excitement and fear, they were all bone-weary, but at his words, the first seeds of triumph started to bloom.
Caleb reported that their fallen had been wrapped in shrouds and their bodies placed in the cleaning shed for burial tomorrow. Hillsythe confirmed that all the mercenaries had been dispatched during the fighting. The bodies had been collected and stacked outside the gate, covered by a tarpaulin to await burial. Hillsythe’s suggestion that Muldoon, Satterly, and Winton should dig all the graves was met with unanimous approval.
Lachlan’s and Kit’s teams had resecured the gates and closed the gap behind the women’s hut. Harriet reported that they had food enough to feed everyone for several meals, as well as jerky and hard biscuits for the trek to the coast. Dixon confirmed that they’d redistributed the weapons taken from the mercenaries to those captives who knew how to use them.
The Frobisher crews, officers as well as sailors, had retreated to sleep in their already established camps in the jungle, leaving their captains and their ladies, and their injured who were resting in the medical hut, within the palisade, along with those previously held captive.
Lascelle had been one of the last to join the circle. He listened to the other reports, then said, “We have one issue yet to address.” Across the fire pit, he met Caleb’s gaze and smiled. “You did too excellent a job, my friend. Dubois is not yet dead.” Looking at the others, Lascelle explained, “He is dying, but slowly. So very, very slowly and in agony, too, but”—he shrugged in typical Gallic fashion—“I do not think he will die within the next hours. So what do you wish to do with him?” He directed the question around the circle, to all the captives present.
They’d all suffered under Dubois; Royd waited to hear their decision.
After several less-than-feasible suggestions, Hillsythe asked Lascelle if he had any thoughts.
Lascelle’s answering smile was cold. What he suggested had a similar tone and was hailed by all as eminently fitting.
As Fanshawe put it, “That will be his worst nightmare come true.”
And so it was that Dubois, tied but not gagged, was carted by the captives into the mine. They tossed him on the ground at the far end of what they called the second tunnel.
Royd stood to one side and watched as Dixon, his face like stone, tossed a pail of water over Dubois, reviving him.
Dubois blinked, then weakly shook the water from his eyes. They all waited, watching, as he looked around, as his gaze focused and he realized where he was...
“No!” The word was weak.
In a panic, eyes wide, Dubois frantically looked around, fighting his bonds. “No—you can’t leave me here.”
“We can,” Hillsythe stated. “And we are.”
Dubois started to gibber.
Isobel, her hand in Royd’s, tugged, and he turned, and together, they walked out of the mine.
Declan and Edwina, Robert and Aileen, and Caleb and Katherine followed, with the rest of the adult captives trooping behind.
Dubois’s wails, weak and incoherent, followed them into the night.
The ex-captives retreated to their hammocks in the huts. Robert, Aileen, Declan, Edwina, Isobel, and Royd headed for the bunk beds in the barracks. Royd hung back and let the others go in. When Isobel returned to the doorway and arched a brow at him, he said, “Choose a bed. I’m going to do a last circuit.”
She held his gaze for an instant, then nodded.
He went down the steps and walked to the gate. He tested it, more out of habit than in any expectation it would fall. Then he walked around the compound in a counterclockwise direction, turning down unnecessary lanterns as he passed them. All that was left of the supply hut was a heap of charred timbers and smoldering embers. Lascelle had apologized to Caleb over how long it had taken for the fire to get going, but the Frenchman’s distraction had proved more effective than anyone had imagined it would.
After glancing at the area where Caleb and Dubois had fought, Royd walked on. He paused in the open doorway of the medical hut and listened, but other than occasional snuffles and a lot of snores, all seemed settled.
Ahead lay the ore piles, with several lanterns trained on the prisoners so that the guards, sitting in relative comfort on logs in the nearby shadows, could easily keep an eye on them.
All five prisoners were awake. They shifted, unable to get comfortable against the piles of rough rock.
When they saw him walking out of the shadows toward them, they all stilled.
Halting just outside the circle of bright light, he scanned their faces. Winton would be the easiest to induce to talk. Muldoon, too, wouldn’t be a hard nut to crack. Satterly... Royd knew too little of the man to judge.
As for Ross-Courtney and Neill, Royd was under no illusions; neither man was likely to speak. Unless he missed his guess, both had realized that their only hope of escaping the fate that now loomed lay in admitting nothing and saying as little as they could. Nevertheless, he fixed his gaze on the older men and arched a brow. “Well? Are you ready to change your tune?”
Ross-Courtney glared, then pointedly looked away.
Neill glanced at Ross-Courtney, and after a moment, said, “We might be forced to remain your prisoners, but we will only speak with the relevant authorities.”
Royd waited, but Neill didn’t look up, didn’t meet his eyes.
Royd smiled; neither Neill nor Ross-Courtney had any idea of Royd’s standing with the “relevant authorities.”
“Very well.” He turned away. “We’ll see how you feel in the morning.”
Did they but know it, his last sentence was directed at Satterly, Muldoon, and Winton. Digging graves and burying the dead—men who were dead because of what they had caused to happen—would shake the three more than any words.
Royd continued his circuit. He paused at the entrance to the mine; cocking his head, he listened, and from the depths heard a pitiable whimper. Dubois’s penance had not yet ended.
After quitting the mine and turning down the lanterns along the front of the men’s hut, Royd passed the fire pit, the fire now reduced to ashes, and finally walked up the barracks’ steps.
All was quiet and still inside. He located Isobel more by instinct than sight. She was fast asleep. He considered an empty bed nearby, then looked down at her again.
Then he bent, rolled her onto her side, and slid into the bed behind her.
He closed his eyes, sighed, and his senses fell into a void.
* * *
Late the next morning, the compound’s gates were swung wide, and with Kate’s hand in his, Gerry beside him, and the other two older boys on Kate’s other side, Caleb marched out and took the path to the lake.
At breakfast, Annie, Gemma, and Mary had nominated the spot where they’d waited with the children as the nicest around for the final resting place of Wattie Watson and Simon Finn. Hillsythe and Dixon had performed a quick survey, then Hillsythe, assisted by several of the Frobisher quartermasters who had returned to the compound, had marched Satterly, Muldoon, and Winton to the spot and handed them shovels.
When Caleb and the others reached the area beyond the wharf, the graves were neatly dug, with the bodies—wrapped in sheets taken from the mercenaries’ beds and then sewn into hammocks—waiting alongside.
Enough of the men now knew how to work rock; several had toiled since dawn to shape headstones. Others had used the chisels and hammers to carve names and dates on the smoothed faces.
As the senior officer present, Royd led the service, reciting from memory all the usual passages in between the words offered by Dixon, Hillsythe, Fanshawe, Hopkins, and, unexpectedly, Kit, who had witnessed Wattie’s death. No one had seen Si fall. Then the bodies were lowered into the graves. There were many willing hands to man the shovels and many silent farewells said as the pair were laid to rest.
Most lingered to see the graves completed and the headstones raised.
Three of them. Between Si’s and Wattie’s headstones, another stone was set. The words etched on its face read: Daisy. Age 13. 1824. From Freetown. An angel taken before her time.
Caleb bowed his head, as did everyone there. Someone had remembered, and all those there would never forget.
* * *
Royd returned to the compound hand in hand with Isobel.
As they walked through the gates, he saw their prisoners now clustered awkwardly around the porch post to which Caleb had been tied. Those picking over the wreck of the supply hut had unearthed, among other things, seven sets of still-useable shackles. The two blacksmiths among the ex-captives had made short work of affixing the shackles to the prisoners, thus relieving Robert’s men from having to keep a close watch on the miscreants.
Royd halted and, across the compound, studied the group.
Isobel halted beside him. She followed his gaze. As if reading his mind, she murmured, “Leave them there.” She glanced at the fire pit, where everyone else—ex-captive and rescuer—was now gathering. “It’s time for us to eat, they’re not going to be harmed by missing a few meals, and we don’t have that much food that we need to waste any on them...and even more importantly, seeing them there, caught and awaiting justice, is balm to all those who were trapped in this wretched place.”
She was right on all counts. With a tip of his head, he acknowledged that, and they continued to the fire pit.
The sailors who took turns in their ships’ galleys had banded together to prepare a simple meal using some of what had been found in the kitchen and padding it out with ship’s rations brought in from their respective camps.
Royd wouldn’t have said the food provided was excessive, let alone extravagant, but watching how the ex-captives, especially the children, fell on the fare, he realized they’d all been not precisely starved but not adequately fed, either.
Caleb saw him watching and guessed his thoughts. He caught Royd’s eye. “This is roughly double what we would normally get.”
Seated beside Royd, Isobel looked at her plate. “Good Lord.”
Royd agreed, but the ex-captives being able to fill their bellies to an extent they hadn’t in months was another point that helped to establish things had changed.
That they were free.
He’d seen it before, all those years ago and several times since, when he’d rescued those who’d been held for more than a few weeks. It took time to realize that they truly were free again.
Dixon confirmed that when he said, “I keep thinking I should check my watch to see if it’s time to go back into the mine.”
Others nodded or murmured similar sentiments.
Royd finished his meal, laid down his plate, and looked around the circle, ultimately letting his gaze rest on Dixon, Hillsythe, and the other leaders. “We need to discuss your return to Freetown.” Unsurprisingly, everyone paid attention. “I propose we walk directly to the coast along the route my party took to get here.” He described the path, the likely length of the trek, then detailed the ships that would be waiting at the shore—the entire Frobisher fleet in these waters bar Consort, which would still be keeping watch outside the naval blockade, plus Lascelle’s The Raven. “That makes five ships. If we divide the company, we shouldn’t be too crowded, and the sailing time to Freetown isn’t that long.”
Robert added, “Heading to the coast and then sailing to Freetown will take the least toll on the children, the women, and the wounded.”
Agreement was unanimous. Royd let the talk run unrestrained for several minutes. The children were fired with eagerness at the prospect of seeing the ships; the promise of sailing into Freetown on such vessels put stars in countless eyes.
That carrot at the end of the path would help to get them through the long trek.
Finally, he raised his voice. “Time—as in what time we should leave.” He waited until calls of “Now!” and “Can’t we go now?” faded. “Even if we hurry, it’ll take at least until late this afternoon to get packed and ready. There’s no point starting along the track only to have to halt less than an hour along.” He glanced at Dixon. “I suggest we use the rest of the day to make ready, then leave at first light tomorrow—as soon as there’s light enough for us to see our way.”
“Yay!”
“Tomorrow!”
As the children’s cheers echoed from the cliffs, the adults looked around; hearing no argument, everyone smiled.
Thereafter, the talk was of preparations and the delegation of various tasks. Katherine, Edwina, Isobel, and Aileen volunteered to pack the medical supplies. Harriet and the other women arranged to work with the sailor-cooks to gather all they could from the leftover stores—first for a celebratory meal that evening, the last the ex-captives would eat in this place, and subsequently to pack all that would be useful on the trek to the estuary. As a part of that, Diccon was delegated to take all the children who wished to go with him out into the jungle to gather enough fruit, berries, and nuts for the evening’s desserts and to carry with them to the coast.
“We won’t want to be stopping constantly along the way, and that’s something you children can carry,” Harriet said. “And I daresay the sailors wouldn’t mind having some fruit and berries to keep on board, either.”
The mention of fruit and berries brought Duncan forcibly to Isobel’s mind. She’d thought of him often, especially when looking at the captive children. Thought of how privileged his life was compared to theirs, and how much better it yet would be once he was openly acknowledged as Royd’s son and heir.
Which he would be; she accepted that, yet...she couldn’t—didn’t have space in her mind—to deal with the changes that implied, not while there.
Diccon, the tow-headed lad who had acted as courier between Royd and Caleb, puffed out his chest and ordered any children who wanted to come with him to line up by the gates. Virtually all the younger children went; only the three older boys, the girl Tilly, and another bright-eyed, fair-haired girl-child refrained. Diccon dispatched several boys to the kitchen to fetch baskets, then, with three of Royd’s crew ambling behind, Diccon led the procession, two by two, out through the open gates.
Watching the performance, Isobel saw Duncan in her mind’s eye. She glanced at Royd and saw him watching with a similar, somewhat distant, expression.
He felt her gaze and turned his head. He read her eyes. When she whispered, “I can so easily see Duncan taking charge like that,” he laughed. Squeezing her hand, he faced forward.
At breakfast, Hillsythe had quietly informed Royd that Dubois had expired sometime during the night. While the company had been burying their dead, Royd had asked two of his men to fetch Dubois’s body from the mine and add it to the pile outside the gates.
Now Hillsythe and Lascelle came to crouch by Royd. When he turned to them, Hillsythe said, “As per your orders, your men had those three”—with his head, he indicated Satterly, Muldoon, and Winton—“dig a large enough hole off the path to Kale’s camp to bury Dubois’s not-so-little band. We were thinking that now, with the children busy elsewhere, would be a good time to take care of that.”
As Royd nodded in agreement, Lascelle grinned coldly. “And now those three have rested, they can help do the carrying.”
“Undoubtedly.” Royd glanced at the three prisoners in question; they were sprawled on the dirt, trying to rest as comfortably as their shackles would allow. “Send as many men as you deem necessary and have them keep a sharp eye on those three—I wouldn’t put it past them to try to escape.”
Hillsythe and Lascelle nodded and rose, and Royd turned back to the discussions.
* * *
Seated several places from Isobel, Kate had yet to leave to pack the medical supplies, allowing Caleb to continue to hold her hand. He sat and observed the subtle changes in those he’d befriended over the past weeks as they started to think about the lives they would resume—the lives many had thought they would never return to.
When Kate leaned closer, studying his face, he met her eyes and murmured, “Second chances are precious and fragile things.”
She searched his eyes, then smiled gloriously. Her hand shifted and gripped his. “I feel as if you’re my second chance—my second chance at starting the next stage of my life. Successfully, this time—I was clearly not meant to be a governess.”
Caleb shook his head. “Uh-uh. I’m your first chance.” A second chance was what was happening between Royd and Isobel. “And look at all the smart ones about us grabbing their chance.” With a tip of his head, he directed her gaze. “Annie and Jeb—and there’s Mary and Babington, and Harriet and Dixon.”
“And Edwina and Declan, and Robert and Aileen.” Kate’s gaze reached Isobel and Royd, and she paused. “But not those two.”
“No.” Caleb squeezed her hand. “That’s a true second chance in the making.”
And it was so intense and evocative in so many ways, it was almost painful to watch.
Shifting his gaze elsewhere, Caleb saw a small golden head bobbing around the circle. “Amy’s still here. I wonder why she didn’t go with the others.”
He was destined to find out, because Amy was on her way to them. She halted near Kate and smiled winningly when Kate turned to her and asked, “Did you want me?”
Amy fixed her big blue eyes on Kate’s face and, her hands clasped before her, said, “Can I please come and help you with the ointments and things? I saw you and the other ladies helping all the hurt people. I’d like to be able to help people, too, and I wondered if you might show me things.”
Kate smiled. “Of course.” She glanced across the circle. “We’re not quite ready to go back to the medical hut yet.” She patted the space on the log beside her. “Why don’t you sit beside me until it’s time?”
Amy beamed, stepped over the log, and sat.
Caleb returned his attention to the ongoing discussions. A moment later, Hillsythe and Phillipe, both of whom had just sent a party of men out of the gates—Caleb assumed to remove the pile of dead bodies beyond—rejoined the circle, taking places vacated by children between Royd and Caleb. When Caleb quietly inquired, Phillipe confirmed that the mercenaries’ bodies were being disposed of.
At a break in the conversation, Hillsythe turned to Royd. “Lascelle and I have a suggestion to make. Our prisoners have elected not to reveal anything to you. Lascelle and I wondered if they might, perhaps, be prevailed on to share more details were he and I to ask. In our own, rather different ways.”
Caleb saw the calculation in Royd’s face as he looked from Hillsythe to Lascelle. Then Royd arched a black brow. “Why not?”
“Indeed,” Lascelle said, “and we have the next two days, both here and while we’re tramping through the jungle to the coast. Being held at the rear of the column, surrounded by my men—French, not English, and therefore with no reason to treat the gentlemen well or be cowed by their standing—might assist in loosening their tongues.”
“Well, Satterly’s, Muldoon’s, and Winton’s tongues, at least.” Hillsythe grimaced. “I don’t hold much hope of getting anything out of the other two, but the younger three should be amenable to our brand of persuasion.”
Royd considered for a second more, then nodded. He looked around at all the others. “Any objections?”
There were none.
“Now we’ve decided that, I have a suggestion to make, too.” Dixon looked at his fellow ex-captives, then turned his gaze to Royd. “There are some diamonds left in the second pipe. If all the men who know how to tease those diamonds out were to work for an hour, two at the most, we’d have every diamond out—and they wouldn’t really need much cleaning. On top of that, we have stockpiles hidden in the mine, at the ore piles, outside the cleaning shed, and inside it. Some would still need cleaning, but if we divided up the load, we could easily carry the whole lot out as is.” Dixon paused to glance around the circle; it was to the others he spoke when he continued, “I believe that after all we’ve been through, restitution is in order. The authorities in the settlement might have something to say about that, but—”
“Not if the authorities behind the rescue mission have their way.” Royd caught Dixon’s eye. “And trust me, they will. I, too, believe a restitution scheme, funded by the diamonds you’ve all slaved to extract, is an excellent idea.”
The notion was discussed further. Royd, backed by Robert and Declan, swore to do his best to confiscate any funds from the mine held by Ross-Courtney or realized from the sale of any stones still with the diamond merchant. When Royd called for a vote by all the ex-captives over who should be in charge of the scheme, once Caleb declined, pointing out he would be returning to England, Dixon, Hillsythe, and Babington—who had in short order earned the ex-captives’ trust—were elected as executors of the fund.
Royd was pleased with that result. Hillsythe had already indicated that he would be returning to London with the Frobishers, but only to report, after which he expected to return to the settlement to oversee the governor’s office for some months. He agreed to take charge of the diamonds and ensure a good price was obtained, and once back in the settlement, he would be perfectly placed to ensure the scheme achieved the desired result. With Babington’s contacts to exploit, there was no reason to believe the fund wouldn’t be a success and bring succor to those who had toiled in the compound for so many months, largely without hope.
Fanshawe and Hopkins suggested they would take a team of men into the mine to pull out the last of the diamonds, while others gathered up the stockpiles and brought the stones and rocks to Dixon for cataloging. Lascelle and Caleb, both of whom waived any return for them or their men on the grounds they’d not truly been captives in the same sense, offered to take the names of all those who should get a portion of the fund.
At that point, the gathering about the fire pit broke up, with virtually everyone heading off on some task or another, all intent on being ready by the time night fell so they could celebrate—and then quit the compound and not look back.
Somewhat to his surprise, Royd found himself with little to do. His men had brought his seabag and Isobel’s satchel from their camp; he and she would be ready to depart without having to pack or make ready.
Declan and Robert were also at loose ends. Declan waved at the mine. “Why don’t we take a look at what all the fuss has been about?”
They ambled into the mine. Lanternlight guided them to the tunnel where the men were working to remove the last of the diamonds. The three brothers got a lesson in what it took to mine diamonds from Fanshawe and Hopkins. In response to a little encouragement from Royd, the lieutenants, aided by the other men, regaled the brothers with the tale of how the captives had plotted and schemed to stretch out the mining until the rescue force reached them. It was impossible not to be impressed by how cohesive the group had grown and how inventive and dogged they’d been, how desperate and determined to survive. Equally impossible to miss was the fact that Caleb—with his indefatigable will and his uncanny knack for inspiring confidence—had played a crucial, indeed pivotal, role. With simple sincerity, Hopkins put it into words. “Without him and his leadership, we wouldn’t have made it.”
Royd hid a wry but self-satisfied smile. Action under pressure was what defined a man—the situations he faced, the decisions he made. Royd appreciated that better than most. Challenge cut to a man’s bedrock and shaped him.
He’d been waiting for some such challenge to come along and shape Caleb. To cut away the lingering superficialities of youth, the hedonism and irresponsibility, and reveal the true core beneath.
Propping a shoulder against the rock wall, in the play of light from the lanterns, he looked at Robert and Declan, talking with Fanshawe a few yards farther down the tunnel. Each of his brothers had their special strengths, but there was no denying Caleb was the most like him. There were six years between them, and as the eldest, he’d stepped into the prime leadership role more or less from birth, so consequently, the difference in experience had been profound.
Only now, Royd judged, had Caleb finally made the transition and taken the last step, and become the leader he’d always had the potential to be. He had more to learn, of course, yet... If Royd were to put into place the plan forming in his head—that, truth be told, had been in his mind for some time, but that had gained more urgency now Isobel had come back into his life—and stepped down from his position as senior captain of Frobisher Shipping, then it was Caleb who would need to step into the role.
Royd didn’t think Robert and Declan would disagree. Even more so now that they had other distractions—reasons to spend less time at sea. Like him, they would want to adjust their sailing schedules the better to accommodate their ladies—their wives. And while, if Royd correctly understood the connection between Caleb and Katherine Fortescue, Caleb would soon have a wife, too, Royd could see Katherine—Kate—maturing into a woman like their mother, Elaine, and sailing with Caleb wherever business took him.
Life was moving on, and things were falling into place.
Royd pushed away from the rock wall as Declan and Robert returned.
It was Declan who cast a slightly sheepish glance around and, in a mutter, voiced what was in all their minds. “I don’t know how Caleb stood it down here—I can’t see the sky. I can’t feel the wind.” Declan shuddered and shook his head. “Let’s get out of here.”
They emerged into dappled daylight. With nothing better to do, they walked to where Lascelle and Hillsythe were questioning Satterly, Muldoon, and Winton. The three must have recently returned from burying the mercenaries. They looked wretched and utterly defeated. Hillsythe and Lascelle had elected to question them away from Ross-Courtney and Neill; they’d sat the three, with wrists still shackled, on logs about the fire pit, with their backs to the barracks and the other two prisoners tethered there.
As Royd and his brothers walked up, Lascelle said, “Bon! So you understand that there is no way out.”
Royd halted. Robert and Declan did, too, flanking him. Standing behind Lascelle and Hillsythe, the brothers folded their arms and listened.
“The evidence against you is overwhelming,” Hillsythe stated. “And in your cases, you have no hope of using your positions to escape the gallows. Besides”—Hillsythe’s voice lowered—“those two are already angling to throw you three to the wolves. When we spoke to them earlier, while protesting his innocence, Ross-Courtney said he really had no idea what Satterly might have been up to, and had even less notion of how law-abiding you two”—he nodded at Muldoon and Winton—“were.” Hillsythe paused dramatically. “And Neill agreed.”
Winton threw a furious look at Satterly. “I told you they’d give us up.”
“Of course, they will.” Lascelle waved contemptuously—in imitation of Ross-Courtney’s superior manner. “To them, you are cannon fodder. Their lives are the only ones that matter.”
Throughout, Satterly had been staring at his linked and shackled hands, but at that, he finally looked up. He stared at Lascelle and Hillsythe, then he licked his lips and said, “We may be for it, but”—he raised his gaze and looked at Royd—“if we tell all we know...” He drew in a shaky breath and rushed on, “If we bear witness against them, can you guarantee the court will change our sentence to transportation?”
Royd opted for the unvarnished truth. “I can’t promise that, but it’s possible.” He paused, then went on, “What I can guarantee is that, for various reasons that have as much to do with politics as anything else, the Crown is far more interested in seeing the likes of Ross-Courtney and Neill brought to justice. Publicly. You three”—he skated his gaze over the three men—“are small fry. You’re not the big fishes the government wants to see in its net. Were I you, I’d seize the opportunity to cooperate. If you want to survive, it’s the best thing you can do.”
Satterly studied Royd’s face, then he glanced at Muldoon and Winton.
“I say we talk.” Muldoon’s voice was harsh. “He’s right—we have nothing to lose.”
“And, just possibly,” Lascelle murmured, “another chance at living to gain.”
“I’ll speak.” Winton looked at Hillsythe. “But I don’t know much.”
“You do know that Ross-Courtney and Neill are two of the backers of this illicit scheme, don’t you?” Hillsythe asked.
Winton nodded. He glanced at Satterly. “Arnold introduced them as that, and by their behavior while here, they’re obviously that. But I hadn’t met them, or even heard their names, before they turned up here.”
Lascelle looked at Muldoon. “You?”
Muldoon pressed his lips tight, then nodded. “I don’t know much more, not about the backers. Arnold”—he tipped his head toward Satterly—“mentioned Lord Peter’s name when we first realized we would need backers to bankroll the mine. He said Lord Peter was a second cousin who might well be interested and who would likely know others of...the right sort.” Muldoon paused, then went on, “But I never heard the backers’ names, not after they became backers. Until they arrived here, I had no idea if Ross-Courtney was, in fact, involved, and I’d never even heard Neill’s name.”
All eyes swung to Satterly. His face was pale, his expression haggard. But whatever internal battle of familial loyalty he’d been waging had ended. Without meeting anyone’s eyes, he said, “Lord Peter is a second cousin, and I knew from talk within the family that he dabbled in...questionable ventures. Often, he acted as the principal organizer.” Satterly lifted a shoulder. “Who better to ask to be one of our backers, especially given his position and his access to others? On my last leave, I went to London and told him of our plan. He saw the potential immediately. He was...enthused, and from that point on, he took over the financing of the project. He formed a group of investors—the backers—and everything just rolled on from there.”
When Satterly fell silent, Hillsythe said, “So Lord Peter Ross-Courtney is the central figure, and he recruited the other backers, one of whom is Neill. Who else is in the group?”
Satterly frowned. He met Hillsythe’s gaze. “I don’t know. He—Peter—insisted we didn’t need to know.”
Muldoon snorted. “Didn’t he say it was too dangerous for us to know?”
Satterly nodded. “When I pressed, that was the excuse he gave. He never mentioned the other backers by name. The first I knew of Neill was when he arrived in Freetown in Peter’s train.”
“So you have no idea who the other backers are?” Robert asked.
All three shook their heads. From their expressions, it was clear that, now they’d made the decision to talk, if they’d known, they would have said.
“You might not know names,” Royd said, “but do you know how many backers there are? We have two here.” He tipped his head toward the barracks’ porch. “How many more are there?”
Satterly shook his head. “He never said.”
“Four.” Muldoon glanced at Satterly. “In the cleaning shed, remember? When we were showing them the blue diamonds, Ross-Courtney was gloating—and he said: ‘If the other four could see these, they’d swoon.’”
Satterly’s expression cleared, and he nodded. “Yes, I remember. He implied there were four more.”
Hillsythe exhaled and looked at Royd.
Royd caught his gaze and nodded, then he looked at the three men. “You three are still prisoners. You’ll be kept in irons, marched to the ships, placed in the brigs, and taken to London to face court there.” He paused, then went on, “Between now and boarding the ships, we can, if you wish, keep you separate from the other two. Alternatively, you might continue to stick close to them, converse with them—and see if you can learn anything more to your advantage. The more information you have to offer, the better it will go for you.” He gave them a second, then said, “Your choice.”
Muldoon looked at Satterly. “While this might have been our idea, without them, we couldn’t have done any of it. Yet they’re going to deny all involvement and use their lofty positions to protect themselves while we pay the price.” His features hardened. “I say we make best use of what chances come our way and see what more they might let fall in our hearing.”
Winton cleared his throat. “I concur. We don’t owe them anything.”
Satterly looked at Muldoon, then Winton. Then he raised his head, met Royd’s gaze, and nodded. “We’ll remain with them and see what more we can learn.”
With that decided, after a short conference with Hillsythe and Lascelle, Royd, Declan, and Robert left the three younger villains sitting by the fire pit and walked to where Ross-Courtney and Neill sat in the meager shade thrown by the end of the porch.
Both gentlemen looked very much the worse for their recent treatment, their clothes and hair dirty and disheveled.
Caleb came striding toward them; he’d been helping Dixon gather the names for the restitution fund. He noted his brothers’ direction and arched a brow at Royd. “Anything?”
“I’ll tell you later.” Royd nodded at the two backers. “We’re about to see if these two have anything to add to what we’ve learned.”
But the instant the brothers halted before the pair, Ross-Courtney, scowling ferociously, stated, “We have nothing more to say to you beyond stating what should be obvious to the meanest intelligence. We are not and never have been involved in this scurrilous scheme. There is not a shred of credible evidence to link us to it, and once I gain the ear of those in authority, I will ensure you regret treating us in this abominable fashion. I fully intend to bring the full weight of the law and the censure of all society against you for this ludicrous attempt to besmirch my good name.” Belatedly, Ross-Courtney waved at Neill. “And that of my colleagues.”
“Colleagues?” Royd arched his brows. “Colleagues in what?”
“Never you mind,” Ross-Courtney belligerently replied.
“Business colleagues.” Neill met Royd’s gaze with a flat stare. “As we explained to the governor, we are here pursuing a business venture, nothing more.”
“And how many other ‘colleagues’ are in the group you represent?” Robert asked.
Neill’s expression hardened. “That’s a private matter and none of your concern.”
“I believe you’ll discover that’s not actually the case,” Declan evenly stated.
When Neill looked down, and Ross-Courtney pointedly looked away, Royd turned to Caleb. “Apparently they don’t have anything worthwhile to add.” He turned and led his brothers away.
Royd halted in the shade cast by the cleaning shed. The other three gathered around, waiting to hear what he had to say. He looked at the three prisoners they’d left at the fire pit, and then at the two tied to the porch. “Those two have decided to brazen this out. They assume and expect that once we reach London, they’ll be questioned politely, and they’ll be able to look down their noses, pull strings, and bluster their way out of any charges. Despite the government’s desire for a conclusive outcome, when it comes to it, I’m fairly certain the likes of Melville will waver and, one way or another, those two will walk free. Once they do—”
“If there is any documentary evidence of their involvement in this scheme, it will turn to ashes,” Robert said.
“Along with anything connecting them to the other four.” Declan looked at Caleb. “We now know there are four more backers.”
Caleb grimaced. “And when there is no evidence to be found, the charges will be dropped, and...”
Robert snorted. “Even if Wolverstone and his crew find enough trails to link all of the backers to the scheme, before they can be arrested, they’ll take a trip to the Continent.”
Declan nodded. “A long, luxurious holiday.”
“Paid for by the blood, sweat, and tears—and the lives—of those who were held captive here.” Caleb’s jaw set. “We can’t let that happen.”
Royd nodded. “Obviously, we need to think more about this.”
* * *
An hour later, the ex-captives and their rescuers met about the fire pit for a cup of tea and freshly made biscuits, courtesy of the small army of cooks who were engaged in assembling their best approximation of a banquet for the evening celebration.
Royd looked around the circle. “Everyone ready to leave at first light?”
“Yes!”
The chorus was deafening. Everyone grinned and exchanged glances. At last, people were smiling again.
The mood had lifted.
It lifted still further when it was revealed that several bottles of excellent brandy had been found in the barracks—bottles carried in for Ross-Courtney and Neill. A vote was taken, and brandy-punch would feature that evening.
The mention of Ross-Courtney and Neill gave Royd the opening he’d been waiting for. He raised his voice over the happy din. “There’s one last issue on which I need to know your thoughts.”
The noise ceased. All about the circle looked at him inquiringly.
He smiled faintly. “As commander of this mission, it’s my responsibility to take our prisoners back to London, to the authorities there. As matters stand, we have evidence enough to be certain of convicting the three locals—Satterly, Muldoon, and Winton. However, when it comes to Ross-Courtney, Neill, and the four other backers without whose greed the entire scheme would never have become a reality...” Concisely, he outlined the hurdles they would face in bringing Ross-Courtney, Neill, and the four as-yet-unnamed backers to any sort of justice.
Dark murmurs sprang up. Royd held up a staying hand. “That doesn’t mean they will escape justice. There are many in London, in positions of power, who want the backers, especially, to pay the price for their crimes. There are ways the necessary evidence might be uncovered. But in order for such evidence to be collected, several powerful people will have to go out on a limb. They’ll have to allow rules to be bent.” Royd looked around the circle, meeting all the adults’ eyes. “I’m willing to return to London and make that case—that if rules need to be bent to bring the six backers of this heinous scheme to justice, then so be it.”
A rising chorus of support came from all around.
Hillsythe had the background to understand the line Royd was taking; he raised his voice and helpfully asked, “What do you need from us? How can we help?”
Royd sent him a grateful look and, into the suddenly arrested silence, replied, “I need a clear directive from all who’ve been victims of these men. That what you want—that what you as free Englishmen and women demand—is that all six perpetrators, the six greedy backers, be brought to justice.”
A clamor of agreement rose all around. There was not one dissenting voice.
Will Hopkins raised his hand. “What about a petition?” He looked around the circle. “One signed by all who were kidnapped.”
Royd nodded. “An excellent idea.”
“Give me the wording”—Isobel rose to her feet—“and I’ll draw one up.” She looked at the eager faces. “We’ll have it ready on the barracks’ steps by the time everyone gathers for the evening. Each of you can sign it before you sit down.”
Everyone cheered.
From the corner of his eye, Royd saw Ross-Courtney and Neill scowling ferociously. He sipped his tea and smiled.
* * *
Their last evening in the compound was as celebratory as the ex-captives and their rescuers could make it. The cooks had worked to add festive touches to the meal, and the libations were sufficiently heady to put smiles on every face.
Every one of the ex-captives finally relaxed—finally truly believed that they were going home, that in the morning they would march out of the place of their captivity, never to return.
A species of giddiness took hold. People mingled, talking and laughing. Then five sailors produced hornpipes, and dancing became the order of the hour.
Reels were a favorite of young and old; the children joined the adults, and the entire company flung themselves into joyous measure after measure.
At one point, Royd stepped out of the stream of dancers and, picking up a glass of brandy-punch, stood to one side, observing and evaluating. Reasoning that the company didn’t need to see the prisoners’ sour faces, he’d had the five moved into the mine for the night. Accustomed to drawing and labeling her designs, Isobel had used materials she’d found in Dubois’s desk—so appropriate—to produce a beautifully lettered petition that every captive had been only too willing, even proud, to sign. Even the children; deciding that having their marks on the document would only strengthen their collective hand, Katherine, Isobel, Edwina, and Aileen had worked with each child until they could scrawl their name on the parchment.
The satisfaction the children had derived from doing so had made every minute of that effort worthwhile.
The signed petition had been carefully packed in oilskins and now rested in Isobel’s satchel.
They’d done all they could here.
Royd sipped and looked to the future.
To Declan and Edwina; across the fire pit, Declan beamed with proprietorial pride as Edwina hung on his arm and gaily chatted with Harriet and Dixon. Two secure and settled matches there.
Looking farther, Royd spotted Robert with Aileen, Robert listening as Aileen animatedly talked with Will and Fanshawe.
Royd found Caleb and Kate surrounded by children, all laughing as, seated on the logs with the children forming a large circle at his feet, Caleb spun them some hilarious tale. Annie Mellows and Jed Mathers watched, arm in arm and smiling, while Babington had his arm around his Mary; the pair couldn’t seem to drag their eyes from each other for longer than a minute.
Even as the intention to look for Isobel formed in his mind, he felt her arm loop around his. He looked at her.
She leaned against him and gazed into his face, searching his eyes. “What are you thinking?”
He let his eyes meet hers. It took him a moment to find the right words. “I was thinking of resilience, and that people have much more of it than they realize.”
Isobel tilted her head. She watched him as, his eyes on hers, he raised his glass and sipped. She was fairly certain he wasn’t talking of the recently freed captives but of her and him. Of them together.
After a second, she smiled and looked at the others, but she couldn’t stop her thoughts from following his direction. He wasn’t wrong; their connection—that ephemeral link that had grown between them over all the years they’d spent together—hadn’t died when they’d parted. It had survived, perhaps not unchanged yet not seriously damaged and certainly not weakened—a resilience neither he nor she had appreciated.
Until this voyage.
Until now.
She could feel his gaze on her face, but she wasn’t yet ready to meet it—to meet him and discuss them.
Them wasn’t an entity she’d as yet had a chance to adequately define.
Movement to her right had her glancing that way. Harriet led what appeared to be a delegation; Annie, Gemma, Ellen, and Mary followed close behind. Annie was carrying a brown-paper-wrapped parcel in her hands.
Her expression lightening in welcome, Isobel shifted to face the other women; her movement alerted Royd, and he turned to greet them as well.
Harriet halted before them. The other women ranged around her, their expressions relaxed, yet serious. “We thought about what you said earlier,” Harriet said. “About the other backers—the ones whose names we don’t yet know—being very difficult to identify. That if you couldn’t put names to them, and Ross-Courtney and Neill continued to keep their mouths shut, then the whole thing—our case against them—might come to naught.” Harriet paused, her expression suggesting she was running through a rehearsed speech.
Isobel, along with Royd, waited patiently.
Harriet gave a small nod and continued, “When we were in the cleaning shed and Muldoon was showing Ross-Courtney and Neill the blue diamonds, Muldoon said he’d sent a letter to the diamond merchant in Amsterdam and that he’d recommended the merchant send the information about the blue diamonds on to the banker.”
“The banker?” Royd frowned. Then he murmured, “Ross-Courtney isn’t their banker.”
“No, he ain’t,” Ellen said. “Because when Muldoon said that, his high-and-mighty lordship said as how that was good, and the banker would tell the others so they would know about the blue diamonds, too.”
“So what we thought,” Harriet said, “was that if you took some blue diamonds to London and showed them around society, then as they are very rare, those other backers might come and ask where you’d got them.”
“They might think the others—Ross-Courtney and Neill, or even the three younger ones—had cut them out,” Mary said. “They’d want to know, wouldn’t they?”
Royd stared at the women for several seconds, then stated, “That’s brilliant.”
The five women beamed.
Annie stepped forward and held out the package. “These are the best set of blue diamonds we could put together—enough to make a nice, big, showy necklace.” She offered the package to Isobel.
She glanced at Royd, then accepted the parcel. “Why me?”
“Well, we thought as you’d be going to London with him.” Gemma tipped her head at Royd. “Aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am. Whatever happens, I intend to see this mission through to its end.”
“Well, then.” Gemma nodded at the package in Isobel’s hands. “That there’s what will bring the buggers out of the woodwork. We thought as you’re the best one to wear it—you’re so tall and striking, you just walk into a room and every man’ll be looking your way.”
“And then the ladies will look, too,” Mary said, “and once they set eyes on those diamonds, it’ll be all over town by the next day.”
“And then the four we don’t have names for won’t be able to resist,” Harriet concluded. “They’ll just have to sidle up and ask where you got the stones, won’t they?”
Royd could see the picture the women had painted unfurling in his mind. They were right; it might work. Possibly better than any other approach. There was, of course, an element of danger, but he knew the woman by his side.
He glanced at Isobel, waited until she raised her gaze from the paper-wrapped parcel and met his eye, then he arched a brow. “Are you in?”
She held his gaze for an instant, then replied, “Definitely.” She looked at the women. “I’m honored that you’ve entrusted me with this. But I have one proviso. Once the necklace has played its part, and we’ve unmasked all the backers, and they and Ross-Courtney and Neill are on their way to the gallows, that we sell the necklace, and the proceeds be sent to your fund.” Her gaze uncompromising, she stated, “No one but you and the others who slaved here should benefit from these stones.”
The other women were a touch flustered; they tried to suggest Isobel keep the necklace “for her trouble,” but ran headlong into the wall of her will and finally accepted her proviso.
With that settled, Royd thanked them again and suggested that the existence of the stones and the necklace to be made from them—indeed, their entire scheme to unmask the backers—would best be kept a secret to be shared only with those who needed to know. “At least until we’ve used the necklace and accomplished what we hope to achieve.” He met the women’s gazes. “You never know who in Freetown might hear and think to write to some cousin who turns out to be connected to one of the backers...” He shook his head. “The fewer who know, the better.”
As he’d hoped, secrecy only added spice to the enterprise. The women readily agreed.
Smiling, Isobel offered her hand; the other women shook it, then returned to the ongoing party.
Royd watched them go, then looked at Isobel.
She was studying the package, turning it over in her hands.
“Second thoughts?” he asked.
“Oh no.” She looked up and met his eyes. “I was just thinking that, in lieu of Ross-Courtney’s balls, this is an appropriate alternative route to justice—one I’m happy enough to take instead.”