Why Mermaids Sing

Chapter 34

Kat was seated at the elegant little writing table in her morning room, attempting to draft a terse note to the Irishman Aiden O’Connell when she heard Devlin’s rich voice in the hall below, mingling with the desultory tones of her maid, Elspeth. Quickly shoving the note out of sight, Kat stood and turned just as he entered the room.

He was dressed in doeskin riding breeches and top boots, and brought with him the crisp scent of the September morning. He caught her to him for a quick kiss and said, “Come ride with me in the park.”

She held him just an instant too long, then laughed. “I’m not dressed for riding.”

“So change.” He touched his fingers to her cheek, his expression suddenly, unexpectedly serious. “I’ve hardly seen you the last few days, and when I do, I find you looking…tense.”

The urge to confide the truth to him welled up within her, hot and desperate. Yet even more than she feared Jarvis, she found she feared watching the love in Devlin’s eyes turn to hate. And so she kept silent, although the need to confide in him remained, filling her with a bittersweet ache.

She brushed her lips across his and somehow managed to summon up a smile. “Give me fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes?” he said with exaggerated incredulity, then threw up his hands to catch her playful punch.

Some half an hour later, as they trotted side by side through the streets of the city, he told her of Captain Bellamy, his beautiful young Brazilian wife, and little Francesca. Kat knew a pang of fear when he told her of the knife-wielding assassin on the Thames. And then he told her of last night’s meeting with Charles, Lord Jarvis.

She listened to him in silence. “And you believed him?” she asked when Devlin had finished.

He glanced over at her, a light frown touching his forehead. “Sir Henry is checking into the particulars of the ship. But yes, I believe him. It simply fits too well. I suppose even Jarvis must tell the truth at times.”

She made an inelegant sound deep in her throat. “Without an ulterior motive? Never.”

She was uncomfortably aware of him watching her as they turned through the gates of the park and rode in silence for a moment. She could fool all of London from the stage, but she couldn’t fool this man.

He said, “Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

She considered trying to laugh the question away, but knew she would never convince him. Forcing herself to meet his fierce yellow stare, she said in a low, strained voice, “I’m sorry. I can’t speak of it.”

He continued to hold her gaze, his face drawn with worry. But he said no more.

She looked away, her attention caught by a small man in a round hat and spectacles hurrying toward them across the park. As she watched, he raised one hand in a discreet attempt to catch their attention.

Devlin reined in and swung to his feet.

“My lord,” said Sir Henry Lovejoy, coming up to them. Pivoting, he gave Kat an awkward little bow. “Miss Boleyn. My apologies for the interruption. Your young tiger told me I might find you here, and I thought you would be interested to hear that I’ve been to the Board of Trade.”

“And?” said Devlin.

“Their records of the inquiry into the Harmony’s loss appear to be missing. The clerk assures me they’ve simply been misfiled and he has instituted a thorough search for them, but it’s curious. Very curious.”

Kat heard Devlin utter a soft oath. “You think someone could have taken the records?” she asked.

“Surely not,” said Sir Henry. Reaching into his coat, the magistrate drew forth a slip of paper. “I was, however, able to ascertain the names of the owners of both the ship and the cargo.”

“What was she carrying?” asked Devlin, taking the paper.

“Tea. In an effort to stave off the mutiny, Captain Bellamy was forced to allow the crew to throw the entire shipment overboard in an attempt to delay the ship’s sinking. The owner of the cargo—a Mr. Wesley Oldfield—was ruined. Utterly ruined. He’s in debtors’ prison, at the Marshalsea.”

“That’s interesting.” Devlin glanced down at the paper in his hand and gave a wry smile.

“What is it?” said Kat, watching him.

Devlin handed her the paper. “The ship’s owner. It’s Russell Yates.”

Sir Henry cleared his throat. “You know Mr. Yates?”

“Mr. Yates is a well-known figure around the West End,” said Kat. “The man used to be a pirate.”

“A pirate?”

She smiled. “Well, a privateer. He was the younger son of an East Anglian nobleman, but ran off to sea as a boy and came home a wealthy man. He still wears a gold hoop in one ear and talks like a pirate. Society professes to be scandalized, but they tolerate him because…Well, because he’s Yates, and he was brought up a gentleman, and he is both amusing and very, very wealthy.”

Sir Henry was looking serious. “You think he could have something to do with these savage murders?”

“Yates?” Kat thought about it. “I suspect he could be savage, if driven to it. But to coldly murder four young men for something their fathers might have done? No. I don’t think he could do that.”

“What finally happened to the Harmony?” Devlin asked. “Do you know?”

Sir Henry nodded. “According to what I’ve been able to discover, a partial crew from the HMS Sovereign tried to patch her up and sail her back to London, but she was too far gone. They finally had to abandon her when she floundered in heavy seas off Lisbon.”

“So Mr. Yates suffered a loss, as well.”

“So it would seem. Although the ship might well have been insured. I plan to spend the afternoon in the offices of the city newspapers, reading their back issues for more details on the incident.”

“I thought you were off the case?” said Devlin with a smile.

A rare gleam of amusement lit the magistrate’s serious gray eyes. “I am.”