Page 32 of The Lyon Returns
“As you wish.”
She took hertime pouring. Not until they both held a steaming cup did she settle into her chair.
“After the first two arms’ shipments went off without a hitch, I ceased worrying over whether or not the money I’d invested would turn a profit, whether or not pirates might overtake the ship, whether or not any number of disasters might strike. I admit learning of your intention to travel to Calcutta on urgent business gave me pause, as it almost certainly meant you would not make your customary inspection of the final shipment and oversee the convoy’s departure.
“Still, I bowed to your expertise. You are a shipping magnate, are you not? I should not need to tell you how to run your business, just as you need not tell me how to run mine.”
Gideon set his coffee aside. Though the Lyon’s Den served an excellent brew, hearing her rendition of events, of how he had so mismanaged things, turned his stomach sour.
“The first omen came when the manufacturer you contracted with sent word of a delay in production. Instead of five months, it would take seven. Nothing unusual there, both Tyrell and Ashwood assured me. Wartime shortages of labor and materials meant delays were to be expected.
“In fact, production took nearly eight months, but eventually, the rifles shipped. Tyrell and the port official saw to it that every i was dotted, every t crossed.” She lifted both cup and saucer to chin level and sipped. “Only this time, things went terribly wrong, as by now, I’m sure you’re aware. Captain Dirk, your trusted right-hand man, decided to go rogue, and somehow convinced the privateers to join him in betraying all of us to rake in a bounty all for himself.”
“May I ask how you are so certain that is what happened?” Gideon asked.
“Because not two weeks following the convoy’s departure, Tyrell called a meeting of the consortium—here. You, of course, could not attend, being in India. Or could you? After all, it had been eight and a half months since your disappearance—”
“Departure,” he corrected.
She inclined her head. “Given that a round-trip journey takes between eight and a half and ten months, depending, eight months could, feasibly, have provided enough time for you to have made it to Calcutta and then back as far as Cadiz—if the winds were with you, and if you’d left immediately after setting foot in India.” She paused. Sipped.
He merely smiled.
She waved a gloved hand. “It was a hypothetical scenario.”
“Of course.”
“In truth, I expected Tyrell had called us together to return our investment capital and distribute our earnings. My first warning something was amiss was Dirk’s absence. Then Tyrell shared what he knew.”
Gideon reclined deeper into the sofa, propping one elbow on the armrest and resting his head on his fisted hand. “Which was?”
“When Dirk did not return in a timely manner with the bank note as was customary, Tyrell went to the Home Office to make discreet inquiries. His associates told him of an official report by the SpanishNavy, attesting that one of their ships, dispatched to escort the convoy safely to port witnessed the consortium’s convoy sailing under French Guard into French waters. The assumption being, the shipment was commandeered by the captain and the privateers you hired and then sold to Napoleon.”
“That seems to be the consensus,” Gideon said.
“Indeed.” She poured herself more tea. “As I’m a pragmatic woman, rather than waste time trying to figure out on whom to lay the blame, I focused on what mattered.”
A flicker of amusement stirred within him. “Retrieving the bulk of your money.”
She went on, not bothering to acknowledge the obvious. “Before signing on as an investor, I studied the agreement, knew that you had purchased insurance through the reputable Lloyd’s of London covering the standard eighty percent of the investment. I was content—if you can call it that—to await your return, at which time I had no doubt you’d file a claim.” Her expressive mouth flattened to a thin line.
“When Tyrell informed Ashwood and me he intended to file in your stead, I grew suspicious. Why, I wondered, would he not wait for you, the founder of the consortium, to see to the details?”
“Why, indeed?” Gideon murmured. “Did you ask him?”
“Of course. Tyrell claimed he needed the money.”
“As he often does.”
“But I could not help wondering if he knew more than he was letting on—about you. In any case, he filed. The insurance company dragged its feet, claiming a need to investigate. And then the rumors started trickling in.”
Just as Grayson had told him. “Tell me of these rumors.” Bessie was bound to have details Grayson did not.
“They concerned you, Mr. Devereux. They say your ship was sighted alongside the convoy. They say a Spanish Naval ship tried tointercept you. They say you evaded apprehension, took a cannonball in the hull, and disappeared into the fog.”
“Theycertainly had a lot to say.” Not to mention, they were spot on.
“Your father, the duke, did his best to squelch the talk. He made a special trip to London, even deigning to frequent my establishment to consult with me.”
