The Traitor's Club: Ford

by Laura Landon

  Hugh poured several fingers of an amber liquid into a glass.

  “No laudanum,” Ford said.

  Hugh smiled. “No, this is just my finest brandy.”

  Ford took a swallow from the glass, then lowered his head to the pillow. “I need your help,” he said when he caught his breath.

  Hugh sat back into the chair. “I gathered as much.”

  “Until I’m back on my feet . . . I need you to protect . . . Callie. I’m afraid she might be . . . in danger, too.”

  “She’s not alone. I sent two of my men with her when she left for Brougham Place.”

  Ford breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Do you have any idea who might have shot you?”

  “I believe I asked the captain of the Night’s Lady . . . some questions . . . that indicated I might be close to discovering what he was doing.”

  “What is the name of this captain?”

  “Fletcher.”

  Hugh brought a chair over and sat. “What questions did you ask?”

  “Nothing I thought . . . would cause such a violent reaction. I inquired about the quantity of tea the clippers could hold and what kind of goods they brought back to England.”

  “What was his answer?”

  “That their cargoes mostly consisted of tea and bales of silk. But I knew that was . . . correct as I’d already seen the . . . bills of lading.”

  “Did any of his responses seem unusual?” Hugh asked.

  Ford closed his eyes. “No. He offered information without hesitation and . . . even volunteered more facts . . . than I’d asked.” Ford faltered. “But there was something about his reaction that . . . I don’t know . . . that wasn’t right. I don’t have any proof, but . . .”

  “You don’t need proof, Ford,” Hugh said. “Your instincts have always been more accurate than a written confession.”

  Ford breathed a sigh. “I just wish I had something. Anything that might—” Ford stopped. There was something. He tried to think what he’d found that had caused a change in Captain Fletcher. “My coat,” he said. “Where’s my coat?”

  Hugh laughed. “I’m afraid your coat is beyond repair, my friend. And you have no need of one yet. You’re not well enough to get out of bed, let alone leave the house.”

  “No,” Ford said, remembering what he’d picked up from the floor of the Night’s Lady. “In the pocket of my . . . coat.”

  Hugh went to the corner where Ford’s clothes and belongings had been placed and found his coat.

  “The inside pocket,” Ford said.

  Hugh reached into the pocket and brought out the wrinkled cloth. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. But Captain Fletcher’s reaction when I . . . picked it up made me think it might be important.”

  Hugh placed the cloth on the bed beside Ford and unwrapped it. “Bloody hell,” he said when he had it open.

  “What is it?” Ford asked, staring at the strange leaf-like substance inside the cotton cloth.

  “Opium,” Hugh said in a hushed whisper. “It’s how cakes of opium are wrapped for shipment—in poppy leaves and cotton cloth.”

  Ford locked his gaze with Hugh’s. “Damn them. They’re using the Queen’s clippers . . . to smuggle opium.”

  “It seems they are,” Hugh answered. “And you’ve just stepped into the hornet’s nest.”

  . . .

  Ford opened his eyes to find Callie sitting in the chair beside his bed. Her eyes were closed, and he hoped she was sleeping. He knew she’d managed to get very little sleep during the last three days. But she wasn’t asleep. The moment he moved, her eyes opened and she sat up.

  “How do you feel?” she asked, getting to her feet.

  “Better. How are you?”

  “I’m fine.” She paused. “Lieutenant Wythers showed me the poppy leaves. Do you think both Captain Fletcher and Captain Palmer are involved in opium smuggling?”

  “Yes. It’s more than likely they are, isn’t it? The same shortages are happening with both clippers.”

  “All I could think of all day was what the admiral’s reaction will be when he discovers his captains are using our clippers to smuggle opium. Lieutenant Wythers went to the office with him. I don’t think he trusted me to go. I think he was afraid I might take a gun and shoot Fletcher.”

  “Would you?”

  Callie smiled. “I might . . . if I knew how to fire a gun.”

  Ford met Callie’s smile. “I didn’t know you had such a vengeful streak.”

  “That would be kind compared to what the admiral would do to them. Grandfather has always valued honor and his good name above all else.” Her features turned serious. “And the Queen? The assault on Her Majesty’s honor? He’ll be devastated for something like that to have happened on his watch.”

  Ford threw the covers back. He couldn’t afford to stay in bed another day.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m getting up. It won’t be long before the Night’s Lady is loaded and ready to set sail. Even though I’m convinced Fletcher and most likely Palmer are involved in opium smuggling, other than a scrap of cotton and a dry poppy leaf, we don’t have any evidence. We need to find proof of what they’re doing.”

  Ford dropped his feet to the floor and sat on the edge of the bed.

  Callie rushed to help him. “Are you sure you’re well enough to stand?”

  “I’ve lain in bed long enough. It’s time we stop your smugglers.” Ford took hold of the hand Callie held out to him, then stood.

  “Wrap your arm around my shoulder,” she said.

  Ford did, and stood there a few moments until the pain that shot through him eased.

  “Maybe you should sit back down.”

  Ford grimaced through the pain as he struggled to get his breath. “I’m fine. Besides, we’re running out of time. The Night’s Lady will sail at the end of the week. That only gives us three days.”

  “I can delay them leaving.”

  “You can?” Ford looked down at Callie. “How?”

  “I can order some repairs made to the Night’s Lady and prolong their leaving as long as is needed.”

  Ford lowered his head. His gaze locked with Callie’s. “You’re quite remarkable, you know.”

  She smiled, a dazzling look that sparkled her eyes and enthralled him. He had never seen a more gloriously beautiful woman.

  Ford swore under his breath as a fresh stab of pain rolled across his shoulder blade. “Bloody hell.”

  “You’ve been standing too long, Ford, let’s sit—”

  “How the hell am I supposed to stand on my own two feet when just looking at you makes me swoon, woman?”

  Callie looked at him in shock, sucked in a breath, and failed to hide a very satisfied grin. “Mind your tongue, good sir, or I shall leave you to your own devices.”

  She slipped away from his side and left him wobbling in the middle of the room. He could see that he was stronger than she’d expected, but he was a far sight weaker than he’d anticipated.

  When he felt steady on his feet, he turned to Callie. “Take the ledgers and papers down to Hugh’s study and wait for me there. I’ll be down shortly.”

  “Oh, you can’t mean it!”

  Ford smiled. It felt good to be upright. It felt good to be useful again. “Yes, my dear lady, I do indeed mean it.”

  Callie waited until he took his first step before moving. He found her concern heartening.

  He edged closer to her, pleased with his progress, and lowered his head. His lips touched hers and he kissed her.

  Their kiss was the tender melding of two people acknowledging something momentous. Something lasting. Two people forming a bond that promised to grow.

  He wrapped his uninjured arm around her waist to hold her to him, and she lifted her arm to thread her fingers through his hair.

  Wave after wave of intensifying passion washed through him. Now was the time to reveal the depth of his feelings. Disclose emot
ions and intentions he wasn’t able to put into words. He infused his kiss with the full measure of his desire.

  She understood his intentions and returned his kisses with an abandon that matched his own. He’d never felt like this. Never wanted someone as much as he wanted Callie. Never thought he’d find someone who matched him so perfectly. But he had. And he would never let her go.

  Voices in the hallway forced him to break their kiss. At the soft knock on the door, Callie stepped away from him.

  “Did you need anything, Captain?” Hugh’s valet asked when he opened the door.

  “Yes, Hardwick. Please, tell Cook that Lady Calinda and I will be down shortly for luncheon, then return to help me dress, if you would. I’ve lain abed long enough. When we finish eating, we’ll make use of his lordship’s study.”

  “Yes, Captain. I’ll return as soon as I speak with Cook.”

  Hardwick left the room and Ford locked his gaze with Callie’s. “I love it when you blush like that.”

  Callie clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Oh dear. I can’t imagine what Hardwick thinks.”

  “Hardwick?” Ford laughed. “I should think it would be envy. He must realize that I am the luckiest man on the face of the earth.” Ford leaned in to kiss Callie on the cheek. “And if you don’t want Hardwick to return and find proof that we were kissing, I suggest you leave.”

  “You’re a scoundrel,” Callie said, and Ford laughed.

  “Yes, I suppose I am.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Callie and Ford had gleaned everything possible from the company ledgers, so Ford went to Lieutenant Wythers’ library in search of maps. In no time at all he found what he was looking for—maps that outlined the routes the Wayward and the Night’s Lady might take as they carried cargoes to India and China. Callie watched Ford trace possible trade routes with his finger until she thought he might wear a path in the map.

  “Would you like to rest for a while?” she asked when Ford sat back in his chair and rubbed his arm and shoulder.

  “No. Hugh will be back soon, and I want to show him what we’re looking at. Maybe he’ll see something we’re missing.”

  “What is it you’re trying to figure out?”

  “How they manage it.”

  “Manage what?”

  Before Ford could answer, they heard voices and knew Lieutenant Wythers had returned. Callie heard the butler tell him that she and Ford were in the study, then heard footsteps as the lieutenant approached.

  “All I could think of the entire way here was the whiskey to which I was going to treat myself,” Hugh said when he entered the study. “Would you care to join me, Ford?”

  Callie and Ford shared a smile.

  “Yes,” Ford answered.

  “Wine, my lady?”

  “Just a drop,” she answered.

  Hugh went to the sideboard and filled three glasses. He handed Ford his drink, then gave Calinda a small glass of wine before sinking into a chair with a full glass of whiskey. From the looks of things, he was going to make it disappear in rather short order.

  “I take it you had a trying day,” Ford said with a smile on his face.

  “Trying,” Hugh answered. “Trying!” he said louder.

  Lieutenant Wythers took another healthy swallow of his whiskey. “Let’s just say at least I didn’t shoot Fletcher when he came to the office to check on the cargo manifests. The pompous ass.” Hugh took another long swallow of his liquor. “Walked up to the admiral as bold as brass and told him how successful their last trip had been.”

  Hugh finished the whiskey in his glass and rose to fill it again. “I’ve never met anyone more filled with himself than Fletcher. If he had half a brain in his head, he’d realize we know what they’re doing.”

  Ford turned to Hugh. “Are you sure they don’t know we suspect them of smuggling?”

  Hugh shook his head. “I not only believe they’re sure they’ve gotten away with smuggling, but with murder. Your murder.”

  “You told them I was dead?”

  “I had to. They asked where you were. I told them you’d met with an unfortunate accident and didn’t survive. I regret telling you, Ford, but I believe the captain was glad.”

  Ford pushed himself from his chair. “What do you think, Hugh? Is Fletcher capable of running a smuggling ring?”

  Hugh thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No. He’s just a lackey.”

  Ford held on to the back of the chair until he gained his balance, then stepped to the other side of the table. “Look at this map, Hugh.”

  Hugh rose to sit at the desk Ford had vacated. When Hugh was seated, Ford turned to Callie. “Show Hugh the route the clippers take when they leave London, Callie.”

  Callie placed her finger on the Surrey docks, then began their journey. “To the Channel, of course, then south, past Spain, Portugal, and around the Cape of Good Hope. Once they make it past Cape Town, they sail across the Indian Ocean. If the destination is India, they sail north to Calcutta.”

  “Do they ever sail to China after they leave India?” Hugh asked.

  “On occasion,” Callie answered. “Trade with India is almost as lucrative as the China tea trade. But if ever our holds aren’t full with bales of silk and spices—nutmeg, pepper, cloves, cinnamon, and the like—we occasionally fill the empty space with chests of tea to trade in China for teas that are better sellers for us.”

  “Is the same true with the clippers whose destination is China? Do they stop in India on the return?”

  Callie shook her head. “They sail with a full load of British goods and return with a full cargo of tea. It wouldn’t be profitable to sail to Canton or Foochow with only a partial load.”

  “What route does the clipper take to China?”

  Callie placed her finger on the map again and traced the route to China as she spoke. “The clippers bound for China sail across the Indian Ocean, then through the Sunda Strait and north to Canton or Foochow.”

  “Something puzzles me,” he said.

  Ford couldn’t help but laugh. “Only something? Almost everything about this confounds me.”

  “Such as?” Callie asked.

  “Such as, if you were going to smuggle opium to China, where would you get it?”

  “Most likely place would be Bengal,” Callie said. “They’re rumored to have the highest quality opium.”

  “And where is the best market for opium smuggling?” Hugh asked.

  “That would be China,” Ford said. “Even their emperor realizes they have a huge problem with opium addiction. Hence the Opium War of ’42.”

  “So,” Callie said, with a serious expression on her face. “If Captains Palmer and Fletcher are using the clippers to smuggle opium, they’re probably buying it in Bengal, then smuggling it into China and selling it there.”

  “That’s most likely,” Ford said. “So, we know profits for Crown’s have decreased over the last year. And yet, the loss isn’t coming from the cargoes of tea. The number of tea chests the clippers return with matches the bills of lading. The number of chests also matches the bills of lading from three years ago.”

  “And, according to my records, the money received from the sales of our purchases over the past year is the same as, if not greater than, ever.”

  “Which means . . . what?” Hugh asked.

  “Which means that the loss isn’t occurring from the clippers’ return cargo,” Ford answered.

  Callie sat forward in her chair. “What if the shortage is coming from the amount of goods the clippers have in their holds when they set sail from India?”

  “You mean from London.”

  “No.” Callie shook her head slowly. “I mean India.” She looked at each of them as an idea began to form.

  “For the last three years I’ve checked the holds of each ship. I’m satisfied they’re leaving London with full holds.”

  “So . . . ?”

  “So, what if they get to India and sell off some of the goods at
cheap prices to make room in the holds for opium that goes from India to China?” She became more excited as her thoughts took shape. “Then they bring back a full load, which meets our expectation, and pass off the shortfall as poor prices they get for our goods.”

  “But some of the goods never get to China.” Now Ford was on board with her thought process. “And some lackey in China shows they received the full amount of goods you sent, when in reality they only received a portion.”

  Now Hugh jumped in. “And they pay him off with opium money to falsify the information in the sealed document sent to you in a sealed box.”

  Hugh threw the remainder of his whiskey to the back of his throat, then placed his glass on the corner of the desk. “It’s brilliant! The clippers bound for China set sail with cargo meant for sale in China. But instead of going through the Sunda Strait to reach China, they turn north and sail to Bengal. Probably Calcutta. They sell some of the goods on the cheap and fill the space with opium they intend to smuggle into China. When they reach Canton or Foochow, they sell the smuggled opium as well as the exported goods and return with a full cargo of tea.”

  Callie shifted her gaze from Hugh to Ford. Hugh’s retelling of her suggestion cast it in a new light. It wasn’t just an idle thought. It was an extremely plausible explanation.

  “I should have verified with other traders that prices in India and China had been falling. Which of course they hadn’t.”

  “You aren’t to blame, Callie,” Ford said in her defense. He wanted to reach out to her and hold her. He wanted to comfort her with reassuring words. And he would later. But now there were other details they had to figure out, such as who was behind the whole smuggling venture.

  Ford splashed more whiskey into his glass. He’d been standing long enough that his shoulder throbbed like the very devil.

  “You need to rest now, Captain,” Callie said, realizing he was in pain.

  “Not yet.” He finished the whiskey. “Now that we know what Palmer and Fletcher are doing, we have to figure out who is behind the smuggling operation. It’s doubtful either one of them is capable of conceiving such a plan. Nor is it probable that they have the money necessary to buy the quantity of opium they obviously smuggle into China.” Ford turned to Callie. “Do you have any idea who might want to use your clippers to smuggle opium?”