The First Lord of the Admiralty looked as if he would like to protest—to push his case for immediate and decisive obliterating action—but in this company, he didn’t dare.
“The problem,” Royce said, sitting back in his armchair, “is that we have no evidence that Dubois isn’t—as others have proved to be—yet another layer and not the final enterprise. Every layer uncovered risks triggering an alarm, and the closer we get to the enterprise itself, the more that risk increases. And once the alarm is triggered, the enterprise—if our assumptions are correct, the diamond mine—will immediately be shut down and the impressed workforce massacred.” Royce’s dark gaze rested on Melville. “The very last thing any of us would want is to reach the mine only to discover a pile of dead bodies and the villains long gone.”
Melville blanched. After a moment, he firmed his jaw and curtly nodded. “Very well. So what do you propose?”
Robert quietly said, “We need to send someone to take over Kale’s camp, and then wait for Dubois to come to him—or to at least make contact. The next thing we need to know is who Dubois is, and how he and his talents, whatever they might be, fit into the villains’ scheme.”
“Agreed,” Jack and Rafe both said.
Declan nodded and looked at Royce.
He, too, nodded. “There’s no other way forward—none that has a decent chance of keeping those taken alive.” He looked around at the other men. “So that’s the next stage of the mission defined. The only remaining question is who do we send?”
“Relevant to that,” Declan put in, “is that we still don’t know who of those in the settlement are involved. Lady Holbrook was, but it seems not her husband. However, it’s unlikely there isn’t someone else in the governor’s office who is a part of this—there’s been too much managing of Holbrook, and that is still going on. Thanks to Aileen, we now know Muldoon, the naval attaché, is involved. But we know nothing either way about Decker or others in the local naval command. Given Dixon was taken first—his talents being a key requirement in getting any mine under way—it seems highly likely that someone in the fort is a party to this, and there may be others elsewhere in the settlement’s governing structures.” Declan met Royce’s gaze. “Whoever we send in must be able to operate without help from that quarter and also know the ways of stepping around the...apparatus of government as it applies down there.”
Royce and the other men all nodded.
Rafe said, “While I can point to men in the corps who would in most situations be able to circumvent the bureaucracy if so ordered, none of them have any experience in jungle climes or, indeed, in settlements like Freetown.” He met Christian’s eyes, then looked at Royce. “I’d be hesitant to put forward any of their names—not for this mission.”
Christian looked at Royce. “I’m faced with the same problem. I have men of the right caliber, but none with the relevant, and in this case essential, experience.”
Jack was looking at Robert and Declan. “I’d say your men and mine are better placed to take this on. But of us all, you Frobishers have the most appropriate and useful experience. And the contacts, too. All of you know the African coast far better than most others. And while Declan went in openly, Robert appears to have slipped in and out with none the wiser—well, other than Babington, who’s on our side—so even if another Frobisher ship is seen near Freetown, given the weeks that will have passed, there’s no reason anyone would immediately grow suspicious. So who else of the Frobishers is available? What about your brothers—or that cousin of yours?”
Robert looked at Royce. “Royd would do it. He could accomplish all you need—”
“With one hand tied behind his back.” Declan’s lips twisted in a wryly affectionate grin. “Just to make it more interesting.”
Royce gave a soft snort. He knew Royd well. “No doubt. However, I want to save Royd for the final leg of this mission.” He met Robert’s and Declan’s gazes, then looked around at the other men. “That final leg is going to be the crucial one in all ways, and frankly, we need a man of Royd Frobisher’s caliber and, shall we say, commanding personality to carry it off successfully. So I’m reluctant to send Royd in yet—not when this is almost certainly not the final leg.”
After a moment, Royce added, “And as this is unlikely to be the final leg, that raises the issue that Royd—and his personality—are not small things, easy to conceal. I would hesitate to send him in for anything other than the final leg.”
Jack grimaced. “I can see your difficulty all too well.” He, too, knew Royd. Again, Jack looked at Robert and Declan. “So what about that cousin of yours? Lachlan, is it?”
Robert looked questioningly at Declan, but Declan grimaced.
“Lachlan would have been a good choice,” Declan admitted, “but he sailed out of Bristol three days ago with a bevy of departmental secretaries and a small horde of engineers bound for Quebec. He won’t be back for at least a few months.”
“Not Lachlan, then.” Christian frowned. “I know we have at least one other of your cousins on our books. A Kit Frobisher?”
Jack choked, then coughed.
Declan shot him a glance. “Our Kit is like Jack’s Kit. While our Kit would leap at the chance—and possibly be able to carry it off—as I’m sure Jack will agree, even suggesting it would be a very bad idea.”
“Ah.” Understanding dawned in Christian’s eyes. “I see.”
Rafe’s sudden smile said he understood, too.
Only Melville was left entirely at sea; he looked from one face to the other in mounting puzzlement.
Before he could open his mouth and ask, Jack held up a hand. “Don’t ask. Trust me, you, of all people, don’t want to know.”
Melville looked taken aback, then he glanced at the others. When no one contradicted Jack, Melville humphed and looked down, busying himself with settling his coat sleeve. “Well, what are we to do, then?” He looked sharply at Royce. “Who are we to send?”
Royce turned his head to look rather quizzically at Robert and Declan. “You have another brother—Caleb. He’s younger, but he can’t be that young—he’s been sailing for at least a decade. What about him?”
Robert and Declan shared a look.
Then Declan said, “Caleb’s twenty-eight. But...” He trailed off, then glanced at Robert.
Robert’s expression was severe, but Aileen sensed that his feelings about Caleb weren’t straightforward, much less clear. After a second’s hesitation, Robert said, “Caleb and his ship, The Prince, are, as far as I know, currently in Southampton Water. We followed him into port two days ago. But before you leap on that, you need to consider Caleb’s record.”
Robert paused as if gathering his thoughts, then went on, “Of us all, in certain ways, Caleb has taken the longest to grow up. He’s the youngest of us all, including our cousins, and he has an...irrepressible and immutable belief in his own invincibility. That’s partly our fault. Caleb has a long history of rushing into situations that any sane man would think twice over directly confronting, but when said situations turn sticky, he’s been able to rely on us—usually Royd, but sometimes me, or Declan, or Lachlan—to turn up and rescue him. We’ve done that since Caleb was a boy.”
“Even Kit,” Declan mumbled, “has hauled his arse out of a wringer a few times.”
“So what you’re saying is that Caleb rushes in where angels fear to tread, with little to no regard for personal danger, in the sublime and usually correct belief that others of his family will rescue him if matters go awry.” Minerva arched a brow at Declan. “Your Caleb’s attributes sound like potential assets in these circumstances.”
“He’s a daredevil,” Robert stated; whether he thought that was good or bad couldn’t be discerned from his tone. “There’s no hedging around that. He sees, reads, and assesses situations as well as any of us, but while we might consider caution,
Caleb never will. He thrives on danger—on spitting in fate’s eye and coming out the victor.”
Declan said, “If there’s any possible way he can take a situation and make it even more dangerous, for himself as well as everyone else—both those with him as well as those pitted against him—you can guarantee he’ll choose that course.”
“Caleb is predisposed to take risks,” Robert went on, “rather than consider safer paths. Royd is most like him in temperament, but maturity and responsibility have muted Royd’s spontaneity and taught him the paths of wisdom.”
“Caleb, on the other hand, has a very hazy notion of the concept of responsibility—not to himself, not to his men, not to others around him.” Declan frowned, then admitted, “Possibly to his mission. Despite the trouble he gets into, he always gets that done.”
“What about his men—his crew?” Rafe asked.
“He has an excellent crew,” Robert said. “Most have been with him for more than five years, some for all of his sailing life. They’re of the same ilk as he is. They share his temperament, his liking for risk-taking, for the thrill of facing danger—the more unexpected, the better.”
Declan softly snorted. “You can’t rely on his crew to act in any restraining capacity—they’ll follow him wherever he leads and cheer while they’re doing it.”
With his head tipped, Rafe considered the brothers. “You do realize that that is, in fact, a rather good reference for the mission we’re discussing?”
Declan blinked; he looked rather struck. Robert, Aileen suspected, had already realized.
A soft tap fell on the door. Royce called, “Come.”
The butler entered and advanced, carrying a salver. “An urgent message, Your Grace, ferried on from Stanhope Street.” The butler halted beside Robert’s chair and offered Robert the salver.
Robert looked at the missive lying upon the silver plate, then, rather slowly, raised a hand and took the letter. Sitting back in the chair, he studied the writing on the missive’s face for an instant, then, as he turned the letter over and slid a thumb under the blob of sealing wax, he glanced at Aileen.
Just that brief glance, and she knew who the letter was from.
No one said anything. No one even stirred as Robert unfolded the missive and read it; a single sheet, it wasn’t all that long.
As Robert took in the meaning of the words inscribed in a slashing black script over the white sheet, he heard Caleb’s voice from two days before ringing in his mind, asking how Caleb was supposed to gain anyone’s trust when no one ever gave him the chance.
His little brother had seen his chance and seized it.
And Robert discovered that he couldn’t find it in him to disapprove.
Raising his head, he looked around the circle of expectant faces. “It appears our discussion is moot.”
“Moot?” Melville said.
Catching Declan’s frown, Robert handed him the letter. “As I said, when I left Southampton, Caleb and The Prince were in the harbor.” He met Royce’s gaze. “They no longer are.” He tipped his head toward the letter Declan was perusing. “Caleb sent that to inform me that he and The Prince are on their way to Freetown. He intends to strike straight for Kale’s camp and follow the trail from there.”
Royce frowned. “How will he know...” He broke off and, still looking at Robert, amended, “How does he know about the camp?”
Robert inwardly sighed. “He’s taken my sailing journal. It contains a complete record of the mission I was sent on—and therefore also contains all the pertinent details Declan and Edwina previously established. The journal also includes everything I, my men, and Aileen discovered—including a copy of the map showing the way to Kale’s camp, descriptions of Kale and several of his men, and even diagrams of the camp itself.” Robert grimaced. “I would have offered you a copy to give to the next man sent, but...” He shrugged and looked at Declan as his brother reached the end of Caleb’s epistle...and said nothing. Caleb’s feelings over never being trusted with critical missions had shone through.
And unless Robert missed his guess, Declan had recognized as well as he had that Caleb’s assertions were true.
A short silence ensued as everyone assimilated the news, then thought further to what it might mean.
Melville frowned direfully. He looked at Royce, then at the Frobishers. “I am not at all happy about your brother taking matters into his own hands. He has acted outside all proper authority. You’ve both got fast ships—you must sail after him and stop him, and turn him back.”
Robert blinked. He didn’t need to glance at Declan to sense his brother’s instinctive—and adverse—reaction to the suggestion. It would be the end of Caleb’s captaincy—virtually the end of his life. “No.” When Melville huffed and looked ready to bluster, Robert continued, his tone unyielding, “He has at least two, if not three, days’ start. Our ships might be a fraction faster, but we won’t catch up with him this side of Freetown, and two Frobisher ships sailing into the estuary stand no chance whatsoever of going unnoticed, especially as Decker is now almost certainly in port.”
“And indeed,” Jack put in, “why would you?” He cocked a brow at Melville. “The man’s gone off to do what’s needed, and by all accounts, he’s well able to accomplish the task. Why interfere?”
Melville shifted and looked exceedingly unhappy, but no one else seemed inclined to rail against Caleb’s preemptive action.
Finally, after studying the men’s faces and exchanging glances with Edwina and Aileen, Minerva observed, “After all that’s been said, I cannot help but note that, perhaps, this was meant to be, and your Caleb has merely...dispensed with the bureaucratic stage—the discussions, the dithering—and cut straight to the heart of the matter, as, indeed, it seems it’s his nature to do.”
Slowly, somewhat pensively, Royce nodded. “This might, indeed, be the best answer all around.” He glanced at Christian, Rafe, and Jack, then at Robert and Declan. “We have no one else half as suitable to hand, and I share your concerns that, at some point, time will become critical. In acting as he has, your brother—as my wife has so sapiently remarked—may have changed nothing other than to save us several days.”
Melville was still fussing, still frowning. “So what are we to do now?”
“Now?” The merest hint of a smile playing about his long lips, Royce relaxed in his armchair and shrugged. “As Caleb has metaphorically filched the baton from our hands, he’s left us with no choice but to sit back—and wait to see what comes.”
THE END
Dear Reader,
I hope you’ve had fun following the adventures and misadventures of feisty Aileen as she teams up with Robert to learn more about the villainous activities in faraway Freetown before hurrying back to London with the news. Clearly, for those kidnapped by the slavers, there is more to be done to locate and rescue them, but Robert and Aileen have taken the next step and identified the path that will lead to the captives. Meanwhile, between them, they’ve discovered that working together is better than acting alone, something neither expected to feel, and beyond completing the mission, they are looking forward to forging a shared life.
But who is to take on the next leg of the mission? Even before Robert and Aileen reach London, they run across Caleb, the youngest of the Frobisher brothers. Caleb has reasons of his own in wanting to take on the next stage of the mission—and before anyone guesses his intention, he seizes the initiative and sails off. Read on for a preview of what’s to come once Caleb lands in Freetown.
If you enjoyed reading of Robert and Aileen’s adventures and feel so inclined, please do share your thoughts with a review here.
I hope you enjoy the passion and drama yet to unfold in the upcoming volumes in The Adventurers Quartet.
Stephanie.
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COMING NEXT IN:
THE ADVENTURERS QUARTET
The mission continues on June 28, 2016. Follow the adventure in
Volume 3:
THE DAREDEVIL SNARED
CHAPTER 3
Caleb paused to pull the neckerchief from about his throat and wipe the sweat from his brow. This was the second day of their trek along the path leading—originally, at least—north from Kale’s camp. They’d followed the well-trodden path more or less north for most of yesterday, but in the last hours before they’d halted for the night, the track had veered to the east.
Today, the path had started to climb while angling more definitely eastward. And they’d started to come upon crude traps. Phillipe had been in the lead when they’d approached the first; he’d spotted it—a simple pit—and they’d tramped around it without disturbing the concealing covering. From then on, they’d kept their eyes peeled and found three more traps, all of varying design, clearly intended to discourage the unwary, but it had been easy enough to avoid each one.
If they’d needed further confirmation that they were on the correct path, the traps had provided it. But there hadn’t been another for several miles.
Caleb glanced around and saw nothing but more jungle. His internal clock informed him it was nearing noon. He couldn’t see the sky; the damned canopy was too thick. Accustomed to the wide expanses of the open sea, he was getting distinctly tired of the closeness of the jungle and the dearth of light. And the lack of crisp fresh air.