Chapter 29
“I do.”
Wrexford waited for everyone to resettle themselves around the table before continuing.
“First of all, there are the bare facts of what we’re facing.
The mastermind has given me until midnight of the day after tomorrow to find Jack MacArthur-Campbell and bring him— along with all the plans of the siderography process invented by Jacob Perkins—to a rendezvous point where the exchange for Kit will be made. ”
“Sixty-three hours, fifty-eight seconds,” whispered Raven, after a glance at the tall case clock in the corner of the breakfast room.
Cordelia sucked in a shaky breath.
“I find it hard to believe he will keep his promise,” muttered McClellan. “Dastards like him never do.”
“That goes without saying,” replied Wrexford. “Secondly, the mastermind warns that any attempt to contact the authorities will have dire consequences.”
Seeing the fear etched on everyone’s face, he quickly continued.
“But that, too, is a given. I’m sure he has a network of informants keeping watch.
Just as I’m sure that our network is far cleverer than his.
” A pause. “We are going to outwit them, beginning with having Raven in his urchin garb slip through the abandoned cistern pipe in the cellar that leads to the alleyway by Hays Mews, and from there alert Griffin about the situation. I’ve drawn up a list of things our Runner friend can do to help … ”
Wrexford then continued on with a lengthy explanation of his analysis of how to narrow down the suspects and pinpoint where the exchange might take place.
There were a great many ifs, he conceded to himself, but he maintained an outer confidence.
We will not—we cannot—fail. Surely Love was more than a match for Evil.
“Umm, Wrex …” It was Eddy who first broke the silence after he had finished.
“This may be a silly thought, but …” She hesitated.
“I did get a good glimpse of the false soldier Raven saw in Mr. Egg’s gun shop.
And while I’m not nearly as good as Hawk or Charlotte at sketching portraits, I may be able to do a decent enough likeness for you to show around as you make your inquiries. ”
“What a brilliant idea,” exclaimed Charlotte. To the others, she added, “Eddy is being far too modest. She has a real gift for caricatures.”
“Do it,” said the earl with a grateful nod. “Knowing who he is could provide an essential clue to identifying the mastermind.”
Peregrine timidly raised his hand. “I have been thinking about the special brass key that Toad stole from Mr. Campbell’s killer. You’ve mentioned that it looks identical to the special brass keys you saw at the Bank of England.”
He swallowed hard. “I also heard you mention the other night that Mr. Sheffield had learned the keys and the special locks were made for the bank by Joseph Bramah.”
Wrexford confirmed the statement with a quick nod.
“I know that Mr. Bramah passed away last year, but my understanding is that one of his sons is now running the family business,” continued Peregrine “I would imagine that a man as meticulous as Mr. Bramah kept detailed records of his work. So perhaps his son could tell you in what areas of the building the locks were installed.”
“By Jove, that’s excellent thinking, lad,” said Tyler.
“Indeed,” agreed the earl. “Let us all keep focusing on creative ways to put a name to the mastermind. At the moment, it seems clear that we have two main suspects—Stoneham and Ainsley.”
“They might even be partners in crime,” observed Charlotte.
“I’m considering that as well,” Wrexford responded.
The dowager shook her cane at Henning. “What about any of your radical Scottish friends—and none of your usual shilly-shallying! Are you truly certain Duff Murray isn’t a wolf in sheep’s clothing?” She scowled. “After all, he’s known Ainsley since childhood.”
The surgeon rubbed a hand over his bristly jaw. “I wouldn’t dare shilly-shally. I happen to know your cane hides a sword, and that you wouldn’t hesitate to cut out my liver if I tried to pull the wool over your eyes.”
“I would cut out your heart, not your liver,” countered Alison.
A wry grin. “I don’t have one … but point taken.” Henning looked at Cordelia. “If I thought there was any chance that Murray was holding Kit, I would have already extracted the truth from him—one sliver of flesh at a time.”
She gave a brave smile. “I don’t doubt that for an instant, Baz.”
Charlotte, too, looked to be pondering every angle from which they could attack the problem.
“Manchester is a gregarious fellow and seems to enjoy gossiping. I could visit his shop again, and in the course of buying one of the paintings he has for sale, try to elicit more details about Ainsley and Ainsley’s brother-in-law,” she proposed.
“There’s a chance that some small, random detail could prove critical. ”
Wrexford considered the suggestion for a long moment. “I worry that he might let something inadvertently slip to one of them about your interest.”
She considered the dilemma. “Remember, nobody but the mastermind and us know that Kit is in trouble. I shall err on the side of caution—”
“I think Charlotte should do it,” said Cordelia. “We know the mastermind is a ruthless murderer. He’ll have no compunction about killing Kit after the allotted hours are up.” She tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “He’ll simply concoct another nefarious plan to find MacArthur.”
“What if …” The dowager gave an owlish squint as she regarded the earl through the lens of her quizzing glass.
“What if Perkins, along with young MacArthur and their other comrades, make their presence known in London and formally announce that they are entering the competition for the ￡20,000 prize? Wouldn’t that take the wind out of the mastermind’s sails? ”
“A bold move,” said McClellan softly. “It would certainly rearrange the chessboard—and not to the mastermind’s advantage. But it’s …” Her gaze darted to Cordelia for just an instant. “It’s awfully risky.”
“But it would be a risk that brings no reward,” mused the earl. “And our villain, for all his monstrous faults, is not a fool.”
“Our biggest enemy is time. We can’t afford to be too cautious,” announced Cordelia. “So here is what I would suggest …”
All sounds ceased as everyone held their breath and waited for her to continue.
“As Charlotte is so fond of saying, Fortes fortuna juvat,” she began.
“That means Fortune favors the brave,” whispered Raven to Eddy.
Cordelia’s composure was back, and her voice was clear and calm. “I say we pursue the suggestions made just now and follow wherever they lead. If after the first twenty-four hours we’ve made no progress, then let us put Alison’s bold plan into action.”
“My sister reveals yet another hidden talent,” murmured Wrexford as he joined Charlotte in the doorway of the schoolroom to watch Eddy as she worked on her sketch of the false soldier.
“I imagine there is much else we don’t yet know about her,” said Charlotte. “I get the sense that as she comes to truly feel this is her home and puts down roots, a great many more surprises will blossom.”
“I’m not sure whether that’s encouraging or terrifying,” he quipped. “But for now …” His gaze went back to Eddy, her face half-hidden by a tumble of curls as she sat hunched over the sheet of paper, moving her pencil with deliberate precision.
“The nose is a little too long,” said Raven with a critical squint as she held up the finished drawing, “and the mouth a bit too soft.”
Eddy grabbed up a fresh sheet of paper, and after screwing her eyes shut in fierce concentration and singing a Gaelic melody under her breath, she began afresh.
“How’s this?” she asked, after working in silence for several minutes on another variation.
“Oiy.” Raven flinched slightly as she held up the sketch of the man who had threatened to cut out his innards. “That’s the bloody bastard.”
Peregrine and Hawk, who had also caught a glimpse of the man’s face on the night of the chase, nodded in agreement.
After solemnly folding the drawing into a pocket-sized rectangle, Eddy carried it over to the earl. “Good hunting, Wrex.”
“I’ll start with Joseph Egg,” he said to Charlotte and the Weasels. “With luck, he’ll recognize the fellow and give me a name.” Without waiting for a reaction, he turned and hurried down the stairs.
As Cordelia had pointed out, the clock was ticking.
An icy gust of wind—a visceral reminder of both the dying of autumn and the daunting challenges ahead—rustled through the trees as he crossed through the center garden of Berkeley Square. Turning up the collar of his coat, he quickened his steps toward the firearms workshop.
“Ah, Lord Wrexford!” Joseph Egg looked up from his ledger book and removed his spectacles as his assistant escorted the earl into his office. “I hope there isn’t a problem with one of the pistols you purchased—”
“Indeed not. They are bang on the mark, and my sister and Master Sloane are well on the way to becoming crack shots.”
Egg looked relieved. “I am glad to hear it—”
“I’m here for another reason,” cut in Wrexford. “And once again I must ask for your pledge of complete confidentiality.”
“But of course, milord. You may always count on me and my uncle.”
The earl unfolded Eddy’s sketch. “I’m told this man occasionally comes into your shop,” he said, before revealing the image. “I am hoping you can identify him and give me his name. However, it’s imperative that you are absolutely certain about it.”
“I understand, sir.” Egg settled his spectacles back on the bridge of his nose.
Wrexford handed him the drawing.
The scrape of a file putting the finishing touches on a pistol frizzen drifted out from one of the nearby workrooms. A laugh echoed in the corridor as two apprentices muscled a barrel of screws and fittings into a storage area …
Ordinary everyday moments that made Wrexford even more painfully aware that his best friend’s life was dangling by an all-too-fragile thread.
To his credit, Egg was taking his time. The earl shifted from foot to foot. And then, after what felt like another eternity, Egg finally looked up.
“Sylvester Arlington,” he announced. “I’m quite sure of it. The artist has captured his essence quite well.” A pause. “He’s not a fellow I would care to encounter in an alleyway late at night.”
After refolding the drawing, he added, “Though in fairness, I have no reason to think ill of him. He’s simply a cold fish.”
“How do you know him?”
“The acquaintance is purely professional. My uncle purchases stock gun barrels from him for certain models of our dueling pistols—Arlington owns a foundry that mills various types of metal—and our craftsmen do the final shaping to our own specifications. It’s a relatively small order, and to be frank, I think my uncle only made the deal because one of his clients asked him to do so. ”
“Which friend?”
“Alas, I’m not sure, milord,” apologized Egg, “but I think it may have been Bertram Ainsley.”
“No matter. You’ve been of great help as it is,” said Wrexford. “And now, let me not keep you any longer from your work.”
“Wait,” said Egg, as the earl was about to exit the office. “Joseph Bramah’s son Timothy, who now runs the family business, might be able to tell you more about Arlington. I believe he still buys the bulk steel rods used for milling the workshop’s precision bolts and fastenings from the fellow.”
“Thank you.” The earl touched the brim of his hat in salute. In fact, Bramah’s workshop was his next stop, and this information stirred a frisson of excitement. “That, too, is extremely useful to know.”
Indeed, perhaps he was one step closer to tightening the screws on the mastermind and his henchmen.