Page 47 of The Nature of a Lady
If anything, her explanation seemed to make it worse. Libby was looking at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Not that I’m any kind of expert on this sort of thing, but ... isn’t thatgood?”
Self-destructive, that’s what it was. Or would have been, had she let it be. But even at seventeen, she’d had more sense than that. “Balance, that’s what a couple needs. The wild needs the steady. That’s why I opted for Cador. He was always steady. Always got along with everyone and never made me go absolutely mad like Caz did. He was—”
Blast and drat.Safe. That’s what he’d been.
“I see.” Libby squinted her eyes at her. “I don’t, actually. But I’ll pretend I do, if it makes you feel better.”
Mabena’s laugh this time at least managed to put her feet back on solid ground. Which reminded her that Casek Wearne wasn’t the point of her adventure in the rain. “What was in the package?”
“Paperwork.” Obviously eager for the change of subject, Libby sprang to her feet and hurried to the sofa, then back. She held out a sheaf of papers. “They seem to be ships’ manifests. Not that I would have recognized them as such, if not for the cover letter.”
Mabena took the page from the top and turned it into the light. “It’s unsigned.”
“But interesting nevertheless. Read it.”
You certainly had a point in your last missive; there is no telling whether the articles you’re looking for would have been from theCanaryor perhaps another of Mucknell’s prey; or a combination thereof, though there is that “John” on the original artifact to lend credence to theCanarytheory. Regardless, whatever he kept and buried would be something that would not rot. Most likely precious metals. Any Indiamen he took would have been equipped, at the least, with payroll. So coinage is always a safe thing to search for.
From what we could discern from the archives, however, it’s the silver from theCanarythat has never resurfaced and thatthe rightful owners put considerable effort into recovering. We can find no further information on what sort of silver it was, but if you can find it, it will be the discovery of the century.
Mabena lowered the page, feeling as though Beth herself had just punched her in the stomach. The first missive had mentioned theCanarytoo. “Mucknell’s treasure? Isthatwhat Beth has been about?” She shook her head. Tas-gwyn Gibson had been filling their heads with the lore for decades, but surely Beth hadn’t believed his tales.
But then, Beth was always disappearing into crevices and cracks of the island that no one else knew. What if shehadfound something? Something that led her to contact whoever this was? Someone in London, clearly, who could access archives of the East India Company.
“Mucknell.” Libby tilted her head. “The admiral from Mr. Gibson’s story?”
Mabena set the letter carefully down on the table and flipped through the sheets behind it. Lists upon lists of cargo for various ships. “Thepirateadmiral.”
Libby sat down again. “I think I need to brush up on my history. What was theJohn?”
“His ship. According to the stories, it was the flagship of the East India Company, the fastest and best outfitted vessel on the seas. Mucknell staged a mutiny on her maiden voyage and eventually came here to offer the ship and his services to the exiled Prince of Wales. Over the next few years, he gathered a fleet of other pirates and wreaked havoc on the shipping lanes. The East India Company especially was hit hard.”
Libby frowned. “What happened to the ship?”
“Eventually the Parliamentarians commissioned others to stop him. There was a battle just off the islands here, and theJohnwas crippled. No one’s certain anymore if it sank at sea, its plunder in its holds, or if it was beached somewhere and unloaded. Either way, everyone knows Mucknell always kept a bit for himself from all his hauls. And they speculate that it’s still buried somewhere on the islands.”
Libby stared at her for a long moment, mouth agape. “Pirate treasure? Really?”
“So it would seem.” Mabena had always just thought them stories. Fables. Fairy tales.
But apparently Beth had a different theory.
The pounding on the door was loud enough and insistent enough that Oliver was on his feet and running for it long before either of the Dawes even rose from their chairs. That kind of knock on a vicar’s door could only mean one thing—there was an emergency, and someone needed him.
He was already reaching for his hat as he yanked open the door, the question of “Who? Where?” already perched on his lips, ready to fly at whoever had come with the twilight.
His hand froze when he saw Casek Wearne standing there before him, looking for all the world like an angry, glowering granite statue. Unyielding. Unmoving. Unfeeling.
But as this granite statue did have family that was part of St. Nicholas’s congregation, Oliver didn’t snap at him. Much. “What is it?”
Casek’s gaze burned over him, the sort of burning that could have meant either ice or fire, and it annoyed Oliver to no end that he couldn’t tell which it was.
“Another package came for Beth.”
It was fire, sure and hot, that swept through him. “What? Are you involved in this? What do you know of my—”
“Ask Benna.” Casek took a step away, looking as though he meant to stride off without another word. But he paused, spun, and dug a piece of paper from his pocket. “She said to give you this, too, and see if you recognize it. And while you’re at it, tell her I delivered her message word for word. You owe me that much.”
“Ioweyou?” Laughable. But at least mention of Mabena had put the fire out. He didn’t know why she’d chosen this particular messenger,but she made sense as the sender. He took the paper, though he didn’t look down at it.
