Chapter 21 #2
“Please think hard—did you hear your guardian angels conversing with anyone?” he urged. “Try to recall whether a name was mentioned. It might help in leading us to someone who can identify the person who was the real mastermind of this counterfeiting plot.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, MacArthur lapsed into a look of fierce concentration.
The hum and clatter within the warehouse seemed to accentuate the fraught silence surrounding the young man.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he finally said. “I was frightened and confused …”
“Understandably so.”
“And I know it would be unhelpful to conjure up some memory from the swirl of shadows simply to please you,” added MacArthur. “That said, I can’t help but think that I recall one of the men with the rings being called ‘Drew.’” He made a face. “But it may only be wishful thinking.”
Wrexford thought for a moment. “No recollection of hearing ‘Baz’ or ‘Henning’?”
“Baz …” repeated MacArthur. “I—I don’t think so.”
“You’re right, it does no good to force it. But if something else occurs to you, let me know.”
“There is one last thing I want you to know, sir,” said MacArthur in a rush as the earl made to rise.
“Mr. Perkins counseled me not to come to Britain and risk waking the old ghosts of my sordid past. But I felt that I must make amends for all the evil I helped create. My uncle Fletcher suffered untold hardships in prison—and perhaps was murdered—because he refused to compromise his principles of Right and Wrong. I had hoped to thank him and show him that his selfless efforts had made me a better person. B-But now, I never will have that chance.”
His voice wobbled, forcing the young man to take a moment to compose himself. “If I can be part of producing an Inimitable Banknote—one that can’t be copied by forgers—then perhaps I will have made some penance for my past sins.”
Another pause. “I know Master Sloane thinks I’m up to no good. I hope to have the chance to prove him wrong.”
Wrexford found himself inclined to believe what he had just heard. MacArthur’s words had sounded heartfelt …
But then again, his father had been a master of lies and deception, all said with an insouciant smile. So perhaps the boy genius was merely shedding crocodile tears.
For now, he would keep an open mind.
The book slipped in Charlotte’s fingers, the pages fluttering as her heavy-as-lead eyelids drooped.
The coals in the hearth of Wrexford’s workroom had turned mostly to ash, with naught but a few flickers of dying light within the gloom.
A single lamp flame, silently dancing within its glass globe, was the only sign of life, as Raven, too, had lapsed into slumber in one of the leather armchairs.
It was the sound of faint footfalls in the corridors that brought both of them awake.
“Wrex! Wrex!” Raven was up in a flash and raced to the open doorway.
Charlotte sat up and blinked the sleep from her eyes. “Shhh! There’s no need for histrionics,” she counseled. “He’ll think that something terrible has happened—”
Too late.
Pistol in hand, Wrexford skidded to a halt, his gaze darting wildly around the room.
“Everyone is safe and sound,” she said quickly. “However, Raven received some disquieting news—”
“I learned from Scratch earlier this evening that Toad has disappeared!” interjected Raven.
“Toad?” The earl lowered his weapon, looking thoroughly nonplussed.
“The urchin who witnessed Campbell’s murder,” explained Charlotte.
“And the one who gave us the key he filched from the killer’s coat,” added Raven in a rush. “Scratch was playing dice with Billy Bones and his gang last night, and they told him that Toad seems to have vanished into thin air. He hasn’t been seen in several days.”
Wrexford remained silent.
“W-What if the false soldiers captured him?” pressed Raven. “And tortured him to force a confession of all that transpired!”
“And what if a winged unicorn landed in Threadneedle Street and invited Toad to fly away to the Moon?” countered the earl.
Charlotte repressed a smile, agreeing with him that bringing Raven’s fears down to earth was the first step in having a rational conversation about the news. And yet she, too, had felt a burble of panic on first hearing that the boy had disappeared.
“But—” stammered Raven.
“Sit down, lad.” Wrexford went to pour himself a glass of whisky and took a long swallow of the amber spirits before settling himself in the chair facing Raven. “First of all, let’s review the facts before going off half-cocked.”
Raven ceased his squirming.
“Did anyone witness Toad being abducted?”
“No, but …”
“Evidence, not conjecture,” murmured Charlotte.
Raven drew in a deep breath. “Toad is missing, and given that his hidey-hole by the bakery stovepipes is a very desirable spot, it’s not a place that he would give up lightly.”
“A fair point,” agreed Wrexford. “But an urchin doesn’t survive long on the streets without being savvy. The fact that three soldiers fired pistols at you and chased you into the stews might have made him decide that it wasn’t safe to stay in the area.”
Raven gave a reluctant nod.
“That said, your concern is not unfounded.”
Charlotte felt her chest clench. It was true—they had all been as careful as possible to conceal their real identities when making forays into the slums. But there were any number of ways that the truth could somehow reach the wrong ears.
“Is there a chance that any of your urchin friends know you have a second life living in a fancy mansion in Mayfair?” she asked.
Aside from a handful of Raven and Hawk’s closest friends from their days of living in the stews—all of whom now lived at Wrexford’s country estate—the Weasels had made sure that none of their street acquaintances knew of their change in fortune.
That Raven didn’t answer right away sent another spasm shivering through her.
“I—I don’t think so,” he finally said. “One of us always keeps an eye out behind us when we’re heading home. But it’s dark and …”
And someone skilled in stealth might be curious, especially as the Weasels often offered money for information.
“I think we have to assume that somebody knows the Weasels aren’t exactly what they seem,” Charlotte said aloud. “My persona as Magpie may also have attracted interest, and it’s possible that some clever individual has figured out that we are likely connected.”
Raven wasn’t easily frightened, but she sensed that he had been spooked by seeing his would-be killer earlier in the day, and so she quickly added, “But whether that information has been passed to people who could hurt us is as yet unknown.”
“When I questioned MacArthur about Raven’s false soldier, he didn’t think the fellow spoke with Egg.
So his presence was likely a coincidence.
” Wrexford finished his whisky and put down his glass.
“That said, I decided it was best for MacArthur not to return to Egg’s workshop.
I’ll explain it to Joseph Egg— as well as double-check on whether he spoke to Raven’s assailant.
I’m confident we can trust his discretion if the fellow returns and asks questions. ”
“But—” began Raven.
“Enough speculation for tonight. I learned a few more interesting things from MacArthur, but I suggest we all retire and continue the discussion with clearer heads in the morning.”
Once they reached the privacy of their bedchamber suite, Charlotte was about to press him for further information.
But as she watched the earl stiffly slip off his coat, his injured arm clearly causing him pain, she found that she didn’t have the heart to do anything more than move to his side and gather him in a wordless hug.
They stood unmoving, entwined in the silvery flickers of moonlight and the gentle warmth of their closeness.
“I’m sorry. I feel that I’m letting our family and friends down,” he murmured, shifting just enough to brush a kiss to her brow.
“There are a number of tantalizing threads swirling around us, and yet I feel as if I am playing blindman’s buff, spinning in circles and unable to grasp hold of any one of them. ”
He was being too hard on himself, but Charlotte knew that saying so would only sound like a platitude.
“It’s putting all of you in danger,” finished Wrexford.
“Perhaps …” The fact was, she suspected that they were being deliberately manipulated and misled with half truths and outright lies by someone within their inner circle.
“Perhaps that’s because there are people we trust who aren’t being forthcoming with us.”
“Alas, I can’t deny that same thought, however awful, has occurred to me.” Shoulders slumping, he stepped back from her embrace and took a seat on the edge of the four-poster bed. “Call me a coward, but I’m afraid of what I might hear if I confront Baz.”
“It’s not cowardice, my love.” Charlotte sat down next to him and feathered a kiss to his cheek. “It’s concern for a dear friend who may have entangled himself in a very dangerous web of intrigue and now feels hopelessly trapped.”
“He must know that he can confide anything—anything—to us,” muttered the earl.
“Pride, shame, embarrassment …” Charlotte sighed.
“There are any number of reasons one allows emotion to overcome logic. Look at me—I was afraid to contact Alison when I first returned to London from Italy, sure that she thought me a fallen woman who had disgraced the family name by eloping with my drawing teacher.”
He nodded but seemed lost in his own thoughts.
Battlefield memories, perhaps, where he and Henning would have died for each other?
“I suggest that you and Kit concentrate on putting together the counterfeiting pieces of this puzzle, and whether it has any connection to Langdon’s past activities or the present competition to create the Inimitable Banknote,” she counseled.
“As for Baz … I have some ideas on how to get to the heart of the matter.”