Page 158 of Honor Requires

Darcy remained where he was, just beyond the circle of light. Lucien stood beside him, silent. Darcy’s gaze moved across the scene, taking in every detail, every motion, every face he could discern. Then he saw them.

They stood a short distance from the main activity, positioned where they might observe without interfering. Their posture was composed, their attention fixed upon the work before them. Hargrave. Langford. Even at a distance, Darcy recognized them without difficulty. The set of Hargrave’s shoulders, the calculated stillness of Langford’s stance—these were not things easily mistaken.

They waited. As he did. Darcy did not move.

The years seemed to gather in that moment, all that had led to this point converging upon the stretch of dock where men labored under dim light and two figures stood in expectation of success.

It ends here, he thought. Or rather, it began the end.

He stood in the shadows, unseen, his presence unmarked and watched as the final pieces of his past moved inexorably toward their conclusion.

Darcy had not long been standing in the shadows when the stillness of the dock shifted.

At first, it was no more than a subtle tightening of the air, a sense that something lay just beyond sight, waiting. The men at work continued their labor, passing crates from hand to hand, their movements practiced and efficient. The low murmur of voices carried on, punctuated by the occasional scrape of wood against wood, the dull thud of cargo set down with care.

Then, all at once, the illusion of order shattered.

From behind stacked barrels, from the shadowed edges of neighboring warehouses, from the darkened hulls of ships moored nearby, figures emerged. Red coats flashed in the lamplight, their sudden appearance as sharp as the crack of a pistol. Muskets were raised, commands given in firm, unmistakable tones.

“Stand fast!”

The men at the crates froze.

Darcy moved swiftly, retreating to the carriage. He opened the door just enough to allow sound to carry, the narrow gap sufficient for his purpose. The driver remained upon the box, betraying no sign that anything out of the ordinary had occurred, though Darcy could see the slight tension in his posture.

The dock was no longer a place of commerce. It had become a place of reckoning.

Hargrave stepped forward, his composure strained but not broken. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his voice carrying clearly over the sudden stillness.

Darcy heard the answer before he saw the man.

Richard’s voice cut through the night with unmistakable authority. “The meaning, sir, is that you are under arrest.”

There was a shift among the soldiers, a tightening of the circle around Hargrave and Langford. The workers stood uncertain, their earlier purpose forgotten as they became unwilling witnesses to what unfolded.

“For what charge?” Langford demanded, his tone sharp with indignation. “We are engaged in lawful business.”

A short laugh answered him. “Lawful?” Richard said. “You insult me.”

Darcy leaned closer to the opening, his attention fixed.

“You stand accused,” Richard stated, his voice firm and precise, “of conspiracy against the Crown, of trafficking in illicit arms, of supplying weapons intended for insurrection, of engaging in unlawful trade with the intent to incite rebellion within His Majesty’s dominions, and of the forging of legal documents to conceal and advance these crimes.”

A murmur passed through the gathered men.

Langford’s protest came quickly. “This is absurd. We are merely overseeing the unloading of goods. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more?” Richard echoed. There was a deliberate pause. “I know precisely what those goods contain,” he said. “Crates of firearms, intended for distribution among those who would see unrest in the north reignited. You have financed and supplied efforts to stir the remnants of the Luddite disturbances, seeking profit in chaos and destruction.”

Hargrave’s composure faltered. “This is conjecture,” he said, though his voice lacked its earlier certainty. “You have no proof.”

Richard’s reply was calm. “On the contrary. We have more than sufficient evidence.”

Darcy could hear the shift in tone, the subtle change that marked the moment when denial began to fail.

“Seize them,” Richard said. The command was carried out at once.

Hargrave struggled briefly, his indignation giving way to open panic, but resistance was futile. Langford, for all his earlier composure, went pale as the reality of his position settled upon him. Shackles were produced, the metal catching the light as they were secured.