Indiscretions. Gail Ranstrom

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СКАЧАТЬ spell Daphne had woven around him? “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “You were saying?”

      Gavin Doyle cocked an eyebrow and gave him a slanted grin. “I was saying that there’s nothing to see in Blackpool. The governor would prefer you stay on this side of Mount Colombo.”

      Would he? “Have you been there, Doyle?”

      “Once,” the chargé admitted. He poured another cup of dark, bitter coffee for Hunt. “Not worth the trouble. The people are unfriendly, the women are not attractive and the terrain is challenging. I’d rather climb an uncomplicated mountain than traverse those cliff paths. The houses literally hang off the rocks. One good shake, and the whole town would tumble into the sea. But it is the potential danger that is the governor’s concern.”

      “Danger? Are the inhabitants that unfriendly?”

      Doyle gave a short laugh. “That is the gossip. Every time someone disappears, it’s said they’ve gone to Blackpool. Whether that is true remains to be seen. I’m of a mind to think the disappearances are due to common kidnapping or conscription. Ships have need of crew. When one sailor runs off—” He shrugged. “Replacements must be found, one way or another.”

      That was a logical explanation, but Hunt wondered if it was true. “What is Blackpool’s raison d’être?”

      “Fishing,” Doyle said with a little snort of disdain. “And logging. Mahogany grows in the mountains and along the cliffs. I gather they fell them, strip the limbs and roll the logs into the inlet, where they lash them together until a shipper comes by for them. Cabinet makers in London and New York are crying out for mahogany, but there’s sure as hell no sign of anyone getting rich in Blackpool. I believe they barely eke out a living.”

      “Why does everyone seem so indifferent to them? You’d think Blackpool was a different country.”

      Doyle raised an eyebrow. “It damn near is. The people there even contract their own supply ships. Believe me, they want nothing to do with us, nor do we wish to have dealings with them. It’s not exactly a secret, just an unspoken understanding.”

      “Is it possible that the settlers are engaging in illegal activities?”

      “Like wrecking?” He shook his head. “Not likely. There aren’t enough ships coming by to make that lucrative.”

      Hunt narrowed his eyes and glanced out over the bay. Only three ships bobbed in the harbor. This was testament, he supposed, to the fact that St. Claire was a small, sleepy island. But that fact did not mean it had no secrets. On the contrary, he suspected that most of the islanders were escaping some unpleasantness in their past. Even Governor Bascombe’s assignment to St. Claire was his atonement for a diplomatic blunder in a far eastern country. Where better than a distant and ignored island of exiles to find a fresh start? What better place for chicanery?

      What better place for treachery?

      He sipped the strong coffee and mulled over the governor’s request. Only Oliver Layton knew his true purpose on St. Claire. If he continued to make an issue of Blackpool, the governor was sure to suspect an ulterior motive.

      “Not Blackpool, then, but I’d still like to see more of the island before I leave,” he told Doyle.

      “How long do you plan to stay?”

      Originally, he’d meant to stay two weeks, but he was four days into his investigation and had made no progress toward his two goals—to discover whether the pirates had a nest on the island and to find out who might be feeding them shipping information. And, as luck would have it, he’d found another strong inducement to stay longer. “Not sure,” he admitted. “Perhaps a fortnight, perhaps two.”

      “I see,” the chargé mused. He tented his fingers together and narrowed his eyes. “I believe that is longer than you planned, is it not?”

      Hunt laughed. “Has the governor asked you to ferret out that information?” He did not like the idea of being pinned down, least of all by political officials.

      Doyle gave him a self-deprecating smile and spread his hands wide in a gesture of surrender. “You’ve found me out. Alas, I was to be more subtle and not make you feel unwelcome. I am also to offer my services in any way to make your stay enjoyable. At least, until I leave.”

      Any way but a trip to Blackpool, Hunt thought. The man needed diverting. “Are you being reassigned?” he asked.

      “I’m being called back to London. I was only assigned to St. Claire to cover Bascombe’s frequent trips home when his mother was ailing. She’s passed now, so I shan’t be needed here anymore.”

      Frequent absences? Warning Hunt away from Blackpool? Was this more than simple coincidence? He’d have to proceed cautiously or he’d tip his hand. “Too bad. I shall have to remember to offer my condolences when next I see him. Meantime, tell me about Mrs. Hobbs.”

      “The little baker?”

      “One and the same.”

      “As I told you at the reception, I really do not know much about her. She was established here before my assignment several years ago. She’s quiet. Hasn’t mixed in society until the reception night before last. I was astonished to see her there. She has been somewhat insignificant in society, and only her consequence as a merchant lifts her above the ordinary. Her manners are impeccable but I am told that she is painfully shy. On the rare occasions I have spoken to her, she has been quite standoffish. I must say, however, that she looked very different at the reception—a damn sight better than her common garb. I wonder if it could have been the candlelight.”

      Candlelight? Was Doyle blind? “Then you cannot tell me anything about her background?”

      “Sorry. A small task to find out, if you’d like.”

      Suddenly, Hunt didn’t like. In fact, he didn’t want the polished chargé d’affaires anywhere near Daphne Hobbs. “Never mind. It was just a passing curiosity.”

      Doyle gave him a canny grin. “Passing? I think there’s more to keep you on St. Claire than your plantation, eh, Lockwood?”

      That was an impossible question to answer. Say aye, and Doyle would have a reason to give Daphne a closer look. Say nay, and he’d subject himself and his own activities to closer scrutiny. “Idle curiosity, Doyle. Don’t give it another thought.”

      “How can I help it? I hear that she’s been invited to the Grahams’ picnic this evening. I’ll be attending, as the governor is under the weather. Perhaps I’ll have occasion to talk to her. Or to sample her wares.” Doyle tapped one finger against his cheek thoughtfully.

      Hunt tightened his jaw to keep from making an imprudent reply. If Doyle sampled anything, he’d regret it. Hunt had decided to send his regrets to Mr. Graham, but if Daphne would be there, he’d reconsider.

      He stood, and his chair scraped back along the terrace flagstones. “Thanks for the coffee, Doyle. Give my regards to the governor and tell him that I’ve made note of his warning.”

      “My, you are becoming quite the social butterfly,” Hannah teased as she looked over Daphne’s shoulder.

      Daphne studied the handwritten invitation to an evening musicale and picnic hosted by the Grahams, a prominent СКАЧАТЬ