Page 91 of Honor Unbound

“He’s going to crash us.” Burton glared at the ceiling.

I huffed out a breath and checked to make sure all my bits were where they were supposed to be inside my gown. “Ernest knows what he’s doing. He won’t wreck us.” He might break a wheel or axle. Another argument to ensure I didn’t change my mind about purchasing a new coach. Ernest could be sneaky.

We hurtled over a particularly rutted section of road, and I felt each bump in my spine.

Marie had other problems. She held an arm across her bosom, scowling. “Why must we race to your nephew’s ship?”

“Because if it leaves before we get there, men are going to die.” Well, they might die. It wasn’t a certainty that the batch of tinned food that should have been destroyed was actually contaminated. But in matters of such gravity, it only made sense to assume the worst. “That can I found in Trent’s factory. The one Hicks said was supposed to be destroyed. I don’t think itwas an isolated can. I think Trent knew that instead of being destroyed, that batch had been sold to Marcus, and Trent died before he could warn him.”

“But how—”

The carriage screeched to a halt, and I went tumbling forward.

Burton grabbed me and set me back on my seat. “Are you all right?”

I looked out the window. “We’re here. Hurry.”

Burton jumped out and helped us down. The docks were bustling. Sailors and stevedores swaggered from ships to the public houses and shops lining the street that fronted the river. Horses pulling carts with stacks of crates plodded down the street, forcing pedestrians to jump out of their way.

I rolled onto my toes. Everyone was so blasted tall. “Look for thePersephone. Quickly now.”

Ernest jumped down and headed north. The three of us went south.

Marie earned a few leers. Any attempts at conversation were quickly shut down by Burton’s glower.

A horn blew. A chorus of shouts arose. And I caught sight of a finely tailored jacket and expensive Hessian boots. “There!” I used my walking stick to prod people out of my way.

Burton was more direct. He strode in front of me and used his body as a battering ram, clearing a path for me and Marie.

“Montague!” I shouted.

My nephew looked about, and I waved my walking stick in the air. “Stop the ship!”

His eyebrows slammed together. “What?”

I ran up to him, panting. “Stop. Your. Ship. Poisoned food.”

To my nephew’s immense credit, he asked no more questions. He ran up the dock as the last gangway was being pulled up and hollered for the captain. In a gratifyingly shorttime, the row boats set to tow the ship away from the dock were paddled back and the main gangplank was set in place once more.

We joined Marcus up on deck. He and Captain Combes gave me expectant looks. “Your tinned food,” I began. “You bought it from Mr. Growse, who sources it from multiple vendors.”

Marcus nodded. “And?”

“And I think some of it might be from that batch that killed those Royal Navy sailors. You remember the incident?”

“Aye, I remember,” the captain said grimly. “It’s one of the reasons I didn’t want to feed that slop to my boys in the first place.” He grimaced. “Apologies, Your Grace.”

“I had reservations myself,” Marcus conceded. “But I was assured that if the canning process is properly effected, the food is safe.”

I nodded. “And it should be, when done right, but something went wrong in the canning process at Trent’s company. When it was discovered which batch the dead men had eaten from, all tins processed between the seventh and fifteenth of June of this year from Trent’s factory were supposed to be destroyed. I think they were stolen, instead, and sold. And that you might have them on your ship.”

A muscle ticked in Marcus’s jaw. “Can you check?” he asked Captain Combes.

“June 7 to 15, 1821.” The man nodded and hurried off.

“How certain are you of this?” Marcus asked.

“Certain enough to ride breakneck through London to stop your boat.” Marie rubbed her neck. Burton gently elbowed her. Her face went red. “I mean, Lady Mary was quite concerned, Your Grace.”