Why Mermaids Sing

Chapter 41

Sir Humphrey Carmichael was seated at his elegant desk at the Bank, his head bent over some ledgers, when Sebastian walked in and slapped a sheet of paper on the blotter before him.

“What the hell is this?” Carmichael demanded, looking up.

Sebastian went to stand with his back to the window overlooking the street. “It’s a list of the passengers and officers of the Harmony. You do see the pattern, I presume?”

A muscle jumped along Carmichael’s jaw, but he said nothing.

Sebastian leaned against the edge of the windowsill and crossed his arms at his chest. “You didn’t tell me you and Lord Stanton were once shipmates.”

Carmichael settled back in his chair, his lower lip curling in disdain. “What do you think? That I discuss the details of my private life with anyone who should happen to express an interest in them?”

“I think that for once in your life, you’ve found yourself in a situation you can’t control.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you? Did you hear that Captain Bellamy is dead?”

“I had heard.”

“The tale is he fell in the river. I suppose it’s even possible, given the way he’s been drinking lately. But I suspect suicide is the more likely explanation. It must be a difficult thing to live with, knowing your actions in the past have led directly to the death of your only son.”

“Get out,” said Carmichael, his voice shaking with raw anger. “Get out of my office.”

Sebastian stayed where he was, his gaze on the other man’s livid face. “What really happened on that ship?”

“It’s no mystery. The story was in all the papers.”

“Your version of the story.”

“There is no other.”

“Really? That’s not what Jack Parker’s brother says. You do remember Jack Parker, don’t you? Your testimony helped to hang him. Except it seems that according to Jack Parker, Lord Jarvis’s son, David, wasn’t hurt in the mutiny after all. David Jarvis was alive and well when the crew left the ship.”

Carmichael shoved to his feet. “They left us to starve. How can you believe anything one of those blackguards said?”

“Men with a rope around their necks don’t usually lie.”

Carmichael calmly resumed his seat and pulled the ledger toward him. “I’m a busy man, my lord. Kindly close the door on your way out.”

Sebastian pushed away from the windowsill. But he paused at the door to look back and say, “By the way, you wouldn’t happen to remember the name of the Harmony’s cabin boy, would you?”

Carmichael’s head came up, all color slowly draining from his face. He sucked in a deep breath, but all he said was, “No. No, I wouldn’t.”

Sebastian was leaving the Bank, headed up Threadneedle Street, when he heard his father’s deep baritone call peremptorily, “Devlin.”

Sebastian looked around as the Earl’s ponderous town carriage drew up, its crested door swinging open. “Step up,” said Hendon. “I’d like a word with you.” As if sensing Sebastian’s hesitation, Hendon growled, “This isn’t about your bloody aunt Henrietta and her matrimonial machinations. Now step up, will you?”

Sebastian laughed and leapt up beside his father.

“Why didn’t you tell me someone tried to kill you on the Thames the other day?” Hendon demanded without preamble.

“How did you hear about that?”

Hendon pressed his lips together in a tight frown. “It’s because of what you were asking about the other day. These murders. Isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Hendon’s chest swelled. “Damn it, Devlin. What kind of pastime is this for a man of your birth and station? Mixing with the lowest dregs of society? Nosing around for information like some common village constable?”

Sebastian kept his own voice steady. “We’ve been through all this before, sir.”

Hendon worked his lower jaw back and forth in thought. “You’re bored—is that it?”

“Not exactly—”

“Because if it is, there’s no denying the Foreign Office could use a man with your talents. I don’t need to elaborate. I know what you did in the Army.” He paused. When Sebastian said nothing, he added gruffly, “We are still at war, remember?”

“I remember.”

“Napoleon has a new spymaster in London, replacing Pierrepont. Did you know that?”

“I had assumed he would.”

Hendon sat forward. “Yes, but whereas we knew of Pierrepont and could keep an eye on those he contacted, this man’s identity continues to elude us.”

Sebastian stared out the window at a ragged boy sweeping manure from the crossing. His next step, Sebastian had decided, would be to pay a visit to Lord Stanton—

“Devlin. Did you hear what I said? Even if Jarvis is able to persuade this actress to betray Napoleon’s man, your contribution to—”

“What?” Sebastian brought his gaze back to his father’s face. “What actress?”

“I don’t know her name. I gather she was passing information to Pierrepont before he fled the country last winter. Jarvis has given her until tonight to give up the man’s name or suffer the consequences.”

Sebastian’s hand tightened around the swaying carriage strap beside him. He was only dimly aware of his father’s voice continuing. A succession of images from last February flickered through Sebastian’s memory: Kat holding out a red leather book she’d somehow known to retrieve from its hiding place…Kat dressed in black, her face pale after Rachel York’s funeral…

Kat as she’d been these last few days, nervous and afraid.

“Devlin. Are you listening to me?”

Sebastian sat forward abruptly. “Tell your coachman to draw up.”

“What? What are you doing?” Hendon demanded as Sebastian thrust open the carriage door. “Devlin.”