Page 42 of This Earl of Mine

Wylde’s mouth twisted wryly. “Unfortunately for Fulton, Nelson destroyed the French fleet at Trafalgar that very same month. The Admiralty told him to stop work, believing the threat eliminated. He demanded to be paid in full, despite his invention never having been used. Some bitter negotiating ensued, which resulted in the vessel being broken up and Fulton returning to his homeland, very unhappy, in 1806.”

“What a shame!”

“That’s not the end of the tale, though. When war broke out with Franceagain, four years ago, the Admiralty decided to revisit the idea. Since Fulton was working for the Americans by then, they contacted anacquaintance of his who’d helped make the original vessel, a character called Tom Johnstone.”

Georgie bounced in her chair. “This is fabulous! Just like one of Mr. Defoe’s adventure novels! Who is this Johnstone fellow?”

“A smuggler and an adventurer, by trade. But the Admiralty turned a blind eye to that and commissioned him to work on a new vessel using Fulton’s original designs.” He indicated the papers spread out on the desk. “These designs. They gave him enough money to start building and the use of a shipyard at Blackwall Reach on the Thames.”

“I have warehouses at Blackwall!” Georgie exclaimed. “This has all been going on right under my very nose! Did Johnstone build the vessel?”

“Not quite. Once again, the war ended before work was completed. Johnstone, like Fulton, was ordered to stop work, and went back to smuggling on the Kent coast. Until a few months ago, when Bow Street sent me to investigate rumors of a smuggler who was trying to engage a crew of competent sailors for a mysterious voyage.”

“You think it’s Johnstone?”

He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and nodded. “I do. He and O’Meara are in league together. When the Admiralty’s plans went missing, suspicion fell on a man named John Finlaison who was keeper of their records at the time, but nothing was ever proved. It turns out that Finlaison is a good friend of O’Meara’s. They corresponded regularly the entire time the doctor was stationed on St. Helena.”

“Aha! So O’Meara got hold of the plans and contacted Johnstone to build him a new submarine?”

“Precisely.”

Georgie tilted her head toward the papers and frowned. “But this design is extremely challenging, even for an experienced shipwright. It would take months to construct. You have plenty of time to find your man.”

Wylde shook his head. “Ah, but here’s the rub, as Shakespeare would say. Johnstone doesn’t have to build a whole new vessel. He only has to finish the one he started a few years ago.”

Georgie blinked. “What?”

“The Admiralty didn’t destroy Johnstone’s second model. It was put in dry dock in one of the navy’s warehouses—and then lost.”

“Lost? How does one lose asubmarine?”

He chuckled. “I believe the actual phrase Admiral Cockburn used was ‘temporarily unaccounted for,’ but it’s the same thing. When the plans were stolen, they sent someone to check on it, but it wasn’t where it was supposed to be.”

Georgie let out a slow breath. “You think Johnstone and O’Meara have stolen it, don’t you?”

“That would be my guess.”

She sat back in a whoosh of skirts. “But this is unbelievable!”

His devilish grin brought out the roguish dimple on his cheek. “Isn’t it just?”

They sat in a companionable silence for a few moments, contemplating the unusual situation, then Georgie said, “It’s rather ironic, don’t you think, that someone is planning to rescue the French emperor with a British-made submarine designed by an American?”

He gave a world-weary shrug. “War’s like that. Nothing makes sense. Things always come back to bite you in the arse.”

She smiled at his cynical assessment. “So, what’s tobe done? I assume Bow Street wants you to prevent any rescue attempt?”

He nodded. “Indeed. Unfortunately, being a smuggler, Johnstone is an expert at avoiding the authorities. I’ve been chasing him for months with no luck—that’s how I ended up in Newgate.”

She sent him a teasing smile. “We have him to thank for our introduction, then?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I suppose so. I’ll thank him, if we ever meet. Bow Street has men following O’Meara now, but he’ll be wary of leading us to Johnstone.” He exhaled slowly, and Georgie stifled the urge to lean over and kiss the scowl off his handsome face. He looked adorably frustrated.

“We need to find the submarine and stop it from sailing,” he said. “But neither Bow Street nor the Admiralty have enough manpower to start searching thousands of warehouses—assuming it’s even being stored here in London.” His hair flopped forward as he raked his hand through it. “Where would you even start?”

The question was rhetorical, but Georgie answered it anyway. “You have to narrow down your search. Have you considered that these plans might provide a way to trace him?”

“How?”

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