A bevy of sailors was waiting to lift them into the steamboat. Half drowned, Jarvis lay sprawled on the floorboards, retching and wheezing for breath. “B-By God, I’ll have you court-martialed for this and sentenced to five hundred lashes, you miserable little boy,” he screamed at Horatio.
“Don’t call meboy.” The midshipman squared his shoulders, the sunlight winking off the polished brass buttons of his tunic. “I am an officer in His Majesty’s Royal Navy, and you are a slithering muckworm who will soon be standing trial for a litany of crimes, including the betrayal of his country.”
Horatio turned to his crew. “Clap him in irons, Bowers.”
“With pleasure, sir!” The sailor fastened the manacles on Jarvis’s wrists and stepped back, adding a kick that bloodied the miscreant’s nose.
“Avast there,” ordered Horatio. “The Royal Navy does not dishonor itself by abusing its prisoners.” He met the colonel’s malevolent glare with an unflinching stare. “However, I shall order an extra tot of rum for every man here at supper tonight so that we may raise a toast to the prospect of seeing this spawn of Satan hanging by his neck from the gallows.”
A raucous chorus of cheers rose up from the men.
Sputtering invectives, Jarvis turned his head to snarl at the earl. “I shall see you in Hell, Wrexford.”
“Perhaps,” he responded. “But in the meantime, do keep my seat warm for me.” A flash of teeth. “I don’t intend on joining you anytime soon.”
More cursing, which fell on deaf ears. Wrexford turned away, feeling a strange mixture of emotions. The pain of personal grief was no less sharp—he knew it would be lodged in his heart for the rest of his days. But having brought the killers of his brother and Greeley to justice brought some measure of solace.
Far more than an act of revenge would have achieved.
I have Charlotte to thank for that, he reflected. A smile ghosted over his lips. Somehow, she made him a better man than he had ever thought possible.
He lifted his face to the freshening breeze and dancing sunlight. “Turn your boat around once you’ve finished fixing the tow ropes to the disabled prototype, Mr. Porter, and let us head for home port.”
CHAPTER 32
Sunlight had warmed the early morning mist from the air. Birdsong twined through the plantings, the only sounds stirring through the townhouse gardens as no breeze had yet begun to stir the foliage from slumber.
“You should be sleeping.” Wrexford came up behind Charlotte and touched her shoulder as she stood with her palms pressed against the windowpanes, gazing out at the oasis of tranquility.
“So should you.” She turned and drew him close.
The scent of her—verbena edged with some earthier fragrance that he could only describe as essence of Charlotte—teased at his nostrils, making his pulse quicken.
“I feel more rested than I have in ages,” he replied, curling a strand of her hair around his fingers.
“It is truly over?” she asked.
“It is, my love,” answered Wrexford. “The devils are no longer a threat to us or our loved ones.”
Charlotte smiled, but a question seemed to ripple in the depths of her gaze. “As to that—”
But before she could continue, a burst of exuberant laughter, punctuated by the rattle of china, echoed through the corridor.
“It seems that the Weasels and Peregrine are bringing Alison a cup of hot chocolate to begin the day,” she said after hearing the door to one of the guest bedchambers bang open and shut. The boys had heartily approved of the decision that Alison should spend the night at Berkeley Square to ensure that she had recovered from her grueling ordeal.
“It’s very sweet how protective they have been. They have barely let Alison out of their sight.” Charlotte made a wry face. “Though I daresay that they are hoping to distract us from asking some uncomfortable questions about the sword cane.”
“Indeed, all four of them have answering to do,” said Wrexford. Hearing McClellan call a warning that the hour set for the gala breakfast was fast approaching, he added, “We had better dress and proceed downstairs.” There were a number of explanations to be made in order to bring closure to an evil whose tentacles had proved frighteningly long. “The others will be arriving shortly.”
* * *
“Hmmph . . .” Alison leaned back in her chair as McClellan and Charlotte brought over more savory selections from the chafing dishes on the breakfast-room sideboard and placed them in front of her. “Perhaps I should consider getting abducted more often.”
“Heaven forfend,” replied Charlotte, thinking of all the other dangers that had nearly ensnared them in a lethal web of lies and deceptions. “We were prodigiously lucky to have come through this investigation unscathed.”
She looked around the table at their close-knit circle of family and friends—alas, Horatio’s naval duties had prevented him from being present—who were finally all assembled in one place . . . and felt the prickle of tears. The previous day and evening had passed in a frenzy of activity. Dealing with the authorities, taking on the somber task of seeing to the mortal remains of Taviot and his sister....
And most of all, ensuring that the dowager and all their loved ones were truly safe.
