“Mr. Fitzwilliam,” Mrs. Bell appeared at his elbow, addressing him by his civilian name. Her manner was alert. “Might I have a word?”
“Of course.” He purchased the oranges and followed her to a quieter corner of the market near a vendor selling bolts of colorful cloth. “What can I do for you?”
She busied herself examining a length of silk, her voice low enough that only he could hear. “I may have overheard something of interest to your particular duties here in Gibraltar.”
Richard had mentioned his intelligence-gathering mission to Mrs. Bell only in the most general terms, but her quick mind had grasped the implications. “What sort of thing?”
“Two Spanish fishermen were discussing unusual French naval activity off the coast of Almería. They mentioned ships moving at night, avoiding the usual shipping lanes.” She fingered the fabric. “One of them seemed quite concerned about it. He said that his brother’s fishing boat had been approached by a French vessel last week, and the crew questioned extensively about the movements of British ships.”
“Questioned how?” Richard’s attention sharpened completely.
“About schedules, cargo, destinations. The French officers seemed particularly interested in any merchant vessels flying British colors that might be carryingmilitary supplies.” Mrs. Bell remained conversational, but Richard caught the slight tremor beneath her calm tone. “The fisherman’s brother was, shall we say,persuadedto provide detailed answers or he would face the threat ofla sombra.”
“La sombra?”
“Spanish for ‘the shadow.’”
The traitor.“Did they mention specific locations or times?”
“Not in detail, but…” She hesitated, her fingers worrying the edge of the silk. “Sir, I believe I can learn more if you think it would be useful. My late husband’s service left me with connections among the maritime community. Captains and crew members tend to speak freely around me, especially when they are returning to the ship after spending time in one of the taverns.”
Richard turned to face her fully. He studied her, the determined set of her chin, the way she met his examination without flinching. A muscle worked in his cheek as he weighed her offer against the dangers it represented. “Mrs. Bell,” he said slowly, his voice dropping to a whisper, “I am grateful for the offer, but I must be frank about the risks. If the French have operatives in these ports…”
She placed her fingers briefly on his sleeve. The touch sent an unexpected jolt through him, and he resisted the urge to cover her fingers with his own. “I have been a naval widow for seven years. I understand the risks of war better than most. And I have a particular interest in seeing that your expedition reaches its destination safely.”
“Particular interest? Of what are you speaking?”
“Miss Bennet has become a dear friend. She has aremarkable mixture of innocence and inexperience coupled with her zest for living, and she makes me see the world differently. For her, I want only the best.”
“I see.” He stepped closer. Mrs. Bell’s gaze held Richard captive. She was not merely offering assistance; she was volunteering to become his partner in a dangerous game and trusting him with her safety. Her courage was extraordinary.
The unexpected sensations drew him to lean further toward her. Sounding rougher than usual, he said, “You must promise me that, at the first sign of actual danger, you will withdraw immediately. Information is valuable, but it is not worth your safety.”
A smile touched the corners of her mouth. “I give you my word, Colonel. Though I may be better equipped to handle maritime dangers than you imagine.”
As they concluded their conversation and moved apart?Mrs. Bell returned to her shopping, and Richard continued his circuit of the market?the colonel’s attention kept being diverted by the sight of her graceful movements through the crowd. He caught himself adjusting his coat and smoothing his hair, behaviors that generally amused him in others. When she glanced back once and offered him a small smile, he was no longer paying any attention to the market at all.
17
An hour later, Richard stood at attention in the sparse office of Admiral Sir Walter Whitmore, the commanding officer of Gibraltar’s garrison. Whitmore was a weathered man in his late fifties with the bearing of someone who had spent decades managing one of Britain’s most strategically important outposts.
“At ease, Fitzwilliam.” Whitmore gestured to a chair across from his desk. “I received orders from London yesterday, delivered by your Captain Shanklin. The War Office briefed me on your mission?intelligence gathering regarding French naval activities and Ottoman political stability.”
Richard settled into the chair but remained alert. “Yes, sir. I am traveling as a civilian with a small party that includes two ladies, a respected scholar, and my cousin, who owns a large estate in Derbyshire. We are bound for various ports in the Mediterranean, ostensibly for scholarly research and cultural education.”
The admiral leaned back in his chair, fixing Richardwith a measured stare. “Regarding the safety of lady travelers…well, that depends largely on where you are planning to go and how you conduct yourselves.”
“Our first stop is Rome. After that, we may need to stop at additional ports along the way, but that depends upon the results of our research. Our eventual destination is Alexandria.”
“Rome should present no particular difficulties, though I recommend avoiding the southern Italian ports?too much French influence at present. As for Alexandria…” Whitmore consulted a map on his desk, his finger tracing routes across the sea. “Muhammad Ali Pasha has been consolidating his power in Egypt. Nominally allied with Britain, he is ambitious. Makes him unpredictable. Maintain a low profile and ensure you have proper diplomatic credentials.”
Richard leaned forward. “What about piracy?”
“Less of a concern than a year ago, but still a factor. The Barbary corsairs are mostly contained. There are independent operators, French privateers operating under letters of marque, Spanish bandits, and opportunistic local thieves. Your best protection is to travel on well-armed merchant vessels with experienced captains who know the waters.”
Richard nodded, his mind already cataloging threats and countermeasures. “And French naval activity?”
Whitmore set his pen down with deliberate care. “Reports say Napoleon is heading northeast to the Russian Empire. I expected the French Navy would retreat from here to join their fight. We are not spotting as many vessels, but there’s still a strong French naval presence, and they are randomly aggressive to our Britishships. They seem to be testing our response times, probing our defenses, and gathering intelligence on Wellington’s army's supply lines. You should also know that French ships are operating out of Toulon and Marseilles, conducting what they claim are ‘routine patrols’ that look suspiciously like reconnaissance missions.”
